Never Going Back Again
by Maxie Kay
Summary: The nightmare legacy of Operation Frankenstein continues and the team find themselves fighting for their lives, at home and abroad. Cross-over with NCIS in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Never Going Back Again**

**An NCIS: Los Angeles Fanfiction**

**by**

**Maxie Kay**

_This is part VII of my K/D Universe that started with __**Personal Questions**__, and it contains themes and references to events in prior instalments.  
>Full details of the series and the reading order can be found on my profile page.<br>This story begins immediately after the conclusion of __**The Chain**__._

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><p>The rain was pelting down around them, with such force that it was actually splattering off the pavements and every time a car went past it sent up a wave of water, but Callen didn't notice. He was too busy kissing Nico and revelling in the familiar joy of feeling her body pressing close against his. And the things she did when she kissed him back meant he was oblivious to the fact that his shirt was completely soaked through and sticking to his skin.<p>

"Just leave them," Sam advised. "Sooner or later they'll come up for air and realise they're providing free street theatre for the natives." He contemplated locking the front door behind him, but thought that might be taking things just a little bit too far. "Do you need a hand?" he called, watching Marty make slow progress of climbing the steps up to the front door.

Kensi threw him a grateful look. "Yes, he does, only he's too pig-headed to ask for help."

"I love you too." Deeks slung his arm gratefully around Sam's neck. "Kensi, that is. I just thought I should make that clear. I don't want you getting the wrong idea."

"Keep your hair on," Sam advised, almost managing to keep a straight face while he said it.

"My sides are splitting. These hair jokes are getting old pretty quickly. It'll grow back." Marty tried to sound confident.

_It better had. And quickly too. _

"Drawing room?" It was funny how quickly you became accustomed to terms that were completely alien to you, Sam thought. Who would have thought he'd be staying in a two hundred year-old house with a drawing room? Not that he wouldn't swap all this in a second for the chance to be back at home in LA with Crosby and Denise right now, but still – it really was pretty cool. And with any luck he'd manage to get a seat on a plane tomorrow, so he'd just make the most of his last few hours in Scotland while he had the chance. Who knew when he'd ever have the chance to get back here after all? Jack had recommended a few pubs to try, along with some local beers he'd said could not be missed. It looked like he'd be drinking alone though.

"Yeah," Deeks agreed as they finally reached the first-floor hallway. "I guess I'd better stick around and say hi to Nico." It was with considerable relief that he sat down on the sofa and pulled his leg up to rest across the cushions. "God, I feel as if we've been away for weeks, rather than just one day." Deeks let his head flop back on the cushions and stared up at the ceiling. "Exactly what do you think EJ is up to?"

Sam considered this carefully. "Protecting her own back is probably her first priority. It usually is, with EJ. So that could mean she more involved with Operation Frankenstein than we thought - or that she's protecting someone else who's involved."

"Vance?"

"A distinct possibility. Hetty also suspects EJ's been working for the CIA all along."

"Great." Deeks raised his head. "Do you fancy a drink? Because I could sure do with one." He pulled a bottle of tablets out of his pocket and dry-swallowed a couple.

"You can't drink when you're on pain meds." Kensi came in just in time to catch this last statement.

"Actually, you can. You just get a bit light-headed, that's all," he argued.

"You're still not getting any alcohol. End of story." She wandered over to the tall window and peered down into the street. "Are they going for a world record or something?"

"Don't encourage them," Sam advised.

The shrill sound of the doorbell echoed in the hallway. "Thank heavens. They must have heard me. Can you imagine what the neighbours were thinking?"

Deeks smirked. "If it was me, I'd be sitting there with field glasses, thinking "this is like free porn" Live action right in front of your windows and in broad daylight - what could be better?"

"I don't believe you. I mean, there are times when I think Kensi's been the making of you and then you open your mouth and we go right back to square one again."

"Come on, Sam. You're really trying to tell me you think differently?"

"I didn't say that. I just wouldn't say what you said." Sam assumed a righteous expression.

_Come on, Deeks – I'm a man, Of course I like porn._

"You'd think it though, wouldn't you? Which amounts to the same thing. I'm just more honest than you are."

"Or more stupid. Don't let Kensi catch you saying things like that."

Kensi appeared back in the doorway. "Knock it off. We've got a visitor." She made a mental note to discover exactly what they'd been talking about later on.

"Hi Nico." Sam waved his hand in the air without turning around. "Callen finally put you down?"

"It's not Nico," Kensi hissed and stood to one side.

"Good afternoon. Sarah MacLeod, from British Intelligence. I'd like to have a word with you, if I may?" A tall woman in her mid-thirties stepped forward, and showed her ID card.

"Sure." Deeks smiled ingratiatingly. "Sorry I can't get up, but I was trapped in this burning building last night and… But you know all about that, don't you?"

"Have you found EJ?" Sam asked, trying to recover his poise.

Sarah shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about."

"EJ Barratt? NCIS agent gone rogue, possible arsonist? Maybe has a side-line in dubious operations for the CIA?"

"No, that's not ringing any bells with me, though I'm sure my colleagues in agencies will be very interested to hear all about her, Mr Hannah. I'm here because of a dead Marine found at the Rosyth Naval Dockyard."

"Why's MI5 interested in a dead Marine?" Deeks asked. "Not that you said you were from MI5, or anything, of course."

"Normally, we wouldn't be. We'd let the US authorities deal with it. Except for the fact this Marine had half a kilo of pure cocaine in his backpack and the details of someone called Max Gentry. NCIS Director Vance in LA said we should get in touch with you immediately. And he implied that this could have significant implications for national security, which is why the Security Service is involved." She looked across at Deeks. "We don't generally tend to call ourselves MI5, by the way. It tends to give people the wrong impression."

"Like you're all going to be like James Bond, with cool gadgets?"

Sam wanted to bury his head in his hands: clearly Deeks was already high on the pain meds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Two: **

"I wish. I wouldn't mind working with someone who looked like Sean Connery. Or get to drive an Aston Martin." Sarah grinned cheerily at him. "The truth is more like we pore over computer screens all day. Not that anyone would believe that. But right now, I'm here to officially request that someone from NCIS comes to the City Mortuary tomorrow morning to formally request extradition of the body back to the US. That'll allow an application to go before the Procurator Fiscal and then we can get all the paperwork arranged. It's pretty much a formality."

"And you can close your file?" Sam asked, relieved that she seemed to have a decent sense of humour. Either that or she was used to dealing with guys who were stoned out of their skulls.

"Exactly. I can see you know how this works. The paperwork never ends. Even if most of it is electronic these days. You'll be doing me a big favour, letting me close this case at our end and hand it over to you."

"Fair enough. We can tie up those loose ends for you. Especially as Director Vance has personally requested the favour."

"Great. I hoped you'd understand. You'll be there tomorrow morning at 10am then? It's pretty easy to find – just go to the Cowgate, and the Mortuary is opposite the Holiday Express Inn."

A loud snigger came from the direction of the sofa. "I bet they don't mention that in their adverts. Just imagine the slogan: "You can always be yourself - at the morgue". Who could resist that when they're choosing their hotel?"

Sam resolutely ignored Deeks' witticisms. "We'll be there."

"Nice meeting you," Deeks said cheerily, as Sam showed Sarah downstairs.

"You need to go to bed," Kensi informed him sternly.

He beamed happily up at her. "Only if you come too."

"You're as bad as Callen. And stop taking advantage of me. You know I can't resist you when you lie there and look at me with those big eyes."

_Not to mention the fact you look about sixteen with short hair. And what's really worrying is that I find it strangely appealing. Is that perverted or what?_

"What do you mean "as bad as Callen"? I'm here to tell you he's one fine man." Nico breezed into the room, totally unconcerned that she was dripping water everywhere. "Sam told me to come straight on up," she announced. "God, I've missed you guys."

"Give me your coat. I'll hang it up over the bath to drip." Kensi was starting to panic about possible water damage to the parquet flooring.

"I was wanting a bath later," Deeks said.

"You'll just have to want. The doctor said you should stick to showers for the next few days, remember?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"They gave him pain meds, didn't they?" Nico sat down on the edge of the sofa and stared into his eyes. "Yup. He's sky-high."

"Hi Nico." He smiled dreamily at her. "Did you know Dad's back? And he's married."

"Hetty mentioned it, honey. She could have told me about your hair though. So could you, Callen. I hardly recognised him."

Callen shrugged nonchalantly. "I had other things on my mind. Not everyone is obsessed with Deeks' hair."

Nico ignored him. "You look kind of sweet with it all curly like that. It reminds me of when you were a little kid. And don't pout, Mikey - because it's true. And you know it."

"I'm going to go to bed if you all keep picking on me like this."

"Not before you tell me about this EJ Barratt and why Callen thinks she's trying to kill you all." Nico crossed her arms and looked at Kensi. "How about you start?"

Kensi heaved a sigh. "You'd better sit down too, Callen. Because things just got a bit more complicated. That was the friendly face of MI5, who are desperate for us to help them get a dead Marine expatriated back home. With what seems like undue haste. She was just that little bit too insistent about how it was just a matter of dotting the i's and crossing the t's and that there really wasn't anything to worry about. And that makes me suspicious."

"Me too," Sam said. "We're involved at the express orders of Vance. And whenever he's involved, I automatically see danger signs all over the place. And the crowning touch, just to make sure we complied with her request was really neat. Turns out he had details of none other than our old friend, Max Gentry, along with an obscene amount of cocaine."

Callen's good mood evaporated instantly. "Who outside LAPD and NCIS knows about Max Gentry?"

"A few low-lives," Deeks said wearily, the buzz from his medication disappearing at the mention of that name. "Most of them are either doing time or no longer with us. Ray, of course. And Nicole. And neither of them are likely to be doing much talking."

"Ray, I'll buy. Apart from anything else, he owes you big time. But Nicole? She could have her reasons."

"No way. She's not like that. Not like that at all. Nicole's… she's sweet. Kind of innocent." He shook his head vehemently. "It's definitely not Nicole. She'd never do something like that. Trust me."

Kensi sat silently, unable to stop thinking about how he had kissed Nicole in the boathouse and how adamant he was that she would never betray him. It was like pressing a bruise – you knew it was going to hurt, and yet somehow you did it anyway. They'd never spoken about that kiss, let alone how he felt about Nicole and wondering exactly what their relationship had been like, but maybe they should. Sooner, rather than later, before it began to fester.

"Which brings us back to EJ. Does anyone doubt that she'd murder a Marine in cold blood? Nope? Me neither. Which just leaves the question – why did she do it? What's her motivation?" Sam looked around the room inquiringly. "Don't all shout out at once."

"Maybe if you told me who this EJ is I might be able to help," Nico said "I'm guessing she's not exactly flavour of the month around here. She sounds like some sort of psychopath, if you ask me."

"She very probably is – only most psychopaths have more social skills than EJ. She's about as house trained as a rabid skunk on heat."

"And she's the one responsible for that fire last night?" Nico let her gaze settle first on Callen, then on Deeks and her lips drew together in a fine, hard line. "I can't wait to meet her."

"Me too. Just make sure we're all around though, will you? Because when Kensi punched her senseless, we all missed it."

"I can arrange that."

"Nico and Kensi as a tag-team," Deeks mused. "That works for me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Three. **

"Pervert."

"hey – it's a perfectly normal fantasy." A stunned look shot across his face. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

Nico looked at him carefully. "I'll forgive you, but only because you're running on empty, right now. Go and get some sleep, will you?"

"Lack of coffee – that's what it is. Plus very good, entirely legal drugs." Deeks began the precarious effort of getting onto his feet, carefully positioning the crutches and pushing up off his good leg. "Although sleep does sound good right now. But just for a couple of hours. I promised Dad I'd call him tonight."

"What's he like?" Nico asked curiously. "Has he changed much?"

"Dad? He's almost exactly the same. It's weird, almost like he just went out one day and then twenty years later he turns up and it's like we're back where we were. Only we're not. I've spent two-thirds of my life without him, and almost as long blaming him for Mom and Chris dying" His face suddenly fell and his body seemed to crumple fromwithin. "Oh fuck, Nico – I don't know what to think." He turned around and went out of the room as fast as he could.

"Go to him. He needs you." Kensi sat perfectly still and looked at Nico.

"No, honey – you've got that all wrong. You're the one in his life. It's you he needs."

She shook her head. "Not now. I wouldn't know what to say. You were the one who was there – you knew him back then."

"But it's you he needs now."

Kensi sat perfectly still. "Please,Nico? If you won't do it for me, then do it for him. Because I'm not the best person to deal with this right now."

Nico got up slowly. "Whatever is wrong with you – get it sorted fast, Kensi. Because you're right – Mikey really doesn't need you when you're like this. And it's funny, because he told me about how you'd lost your father too and how he always thought that was a bond between the two of you. He actually thought you understood what it feels like to lose a parent and never get over it. Only it turns out he was wrong, doesn't it? Because you of all people should be able to know how he's feeling right now. You think this is easy for him?" She slammed the door shut behind her and Kensi shuddered as the vibration reverberated through her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam offered hesitantly.

"Not really." Kensi refused to meet his eyes.

"You're thinking about Nicole, aren't you?" Callen said. "And the way he spoke about her."

"Of course I bloody am. How would you feel if you had to sit there and listen to that?"

"Listen to what? Deeks saying Nicole is a decent person? Because that's what it amounted to."

"You didn't see the way he kissed her."

"Actually, I did. We all did."

"And?" Kensi looked up, eyes blazing. "You know as well as me what that meant. He was in love with her. And don't try to tell me differently."

Sam tried to reason with her: okay, so that tactic never worked with Denise, but what did he have to lose? "And who's he with right now? You or Nicole? Who did he ask to marry him?"

"That's not the point."

"Oh yes it is - it's exactly the point. You want some guy who's going to bad-mouth the woman he once cared about – well go take your pick, because there's plenty to choose from out there. You don't even have to go far. You can just ask Callen how he feels about EJ."

Callen held up his hands in protest. "Don't bring me into this – you were doing just fine by yourselves. I never cared about her. Well, not much. Hardly at all, actually."

"You were still cut up when she dumped you."

"I wasn't cut up, Sam. I had a broken arm. That's completely different. And anyway, haven't we all just agreed that she's a psycho? Why do you want to take advice from someone stupid enough to get involved with a nutcase like EJ?"

Kensi dashed a hand across her eyes. "You guys are useless. I need a girlfriend who's going to agree with me, tell me all men are bastards, fill me up with cheap white wine and then take me out dancing. And all you do is sit and talk sense."

"Excuse me? Is that Kensi Blye admitting she was wrong, Sam? Because if it is, I think we should make a note of it. Maybe even send round a special memo."

"Yeah, right. It's not like this is going to happen again. Ever."

"Of course not. You're Kensi Blye, after all. Little Miss Perfect."

"Little Miss Screw-up is more like it," she said bitterly.

"You want some real advice, Kensi? Actually, I don't care if you do or not – because you're going to get it, whether you want it or not. You know how Denise and I were separated? Well, take it from someone who nearly threw away the best thing that ever happened to him: love is hard. And sometimes it hurts you like nothing else ever can. Loving someone, despite all their faults, isn't easy and nobody ever said it was going to be. So you work at it, alright? And if that means sometimes you have to swallow that stubborn pride of yours, then that is what you damned well do. You and Deeks are both adults – okay, he's technically grown up at any rate - and you've both been around the block a few times. So accept you've both got some baggage and get over it. Because, in the end, if you really love him, it'll be worth it." Sam took a deep breath. "And if you ever breathe a word of this conversation to anyone, especially Deeks, I swear I will kill you with my bare hands."

Callen nudged him in the ribs. "Denise would be proud of you. Seriously, man."

"Yeah, well… You know." Sam studied his feet intently. If all else failed, maybe he could give Dr Phil a run for his money.

"So who needs girlfriends when you've got a team?" Kensi went over to the door and then paused. "But Nico's still going to be mad with me, isn't she?"

"And how. I wouldn't like to be in your shoes. And I speak from personal experience."

"Couldn't you distract her? Please Callen?"

"How about you make it worth my while?" There was an evil grin on his face.

"Ask him about Mr Carl," Sam said slyly. "And the Romanian dancer who turned out to…"

Callen jumped in before he could finish the sentence. "Alright. Seeing it's you, Kensi. And because I'm missing Nico already." He hurried out of the room.

"Fill me in later? With all the details?" Kensi begged.

"You bet."


	4. Chapter 4

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Four. **

_A little bit of fluff for guii - but only after some major angst..._

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><p>Crossing the hallway, Kensi could see that the bedroom door was standing ajar and she could hear a faint murmur of low voices. When she went in, Marty was standing with his back to her, silhouetted against the window and Callen and Nico made what could only be described as a grateful retreat, with looks of relief on their faces.<p>

"Are you okay?" Kensi remained standing just inside the room, sensing the anger and hurt that seemed to radiate from him. She didn't quite dare to join him at the window.

"Not really." Marty didn't turn around to look at her, he just kept standing there, slumped forward on the crutches, staring out of the window without seeing a thing. "But I will be, I guess. How about you?" His voice sounded almost detached, as if he wasn't affected, but Kensi knew better than that. She knew how deeply she'd hurt him and that knowledge felt like a knife driving into her heart.

It wasn't easy, trying to talk to his back, but she persevered. "Trying to come to terms with things, I guess."

"Yeah – join the club." He sighed deeply. "Listen Kensi, I'm really tired and I just want to sleep, okay?"

"Fine." She still hadn't moved, unsure of what she should do or say, wanting to go over to him, and at the same time dreading being pushed away. "Do you want me to go?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," she admitted sadly. "I don't feel like I know anything about you anymore."

"You mean you don't trust me? That's the truth, isn't it? You sent Nico in here because you were pissed at me because of what I said about Nicole."

Kensi blinked furiously, trying desperately not to cry. "I was jealous."

"I needed you." He was beginning to let his anger take hold." Why couldn't you just let this be about me for once? What I had with Nicole – that was over a long time ago. And it doesn't alter how I feel about you. It's got nothing to do with us at all. Why can't you just believe me?"

"I'm sorry." When she looked up, Kensi could see that his head was bent. "Marty? I said I was sorry."

"Sorry that you don't trust me?" His temper had been on a slow boil, but now it was reaching critical levels. "Wow - that's big of you," he spat out sarcastically. "I can't tell you how good that makes me feel."

"This isn't you," Kensi said, in a flat, almost emotionless voice. "You're acting like Max Gentry. And he was a jerk."

"I fucking WAS Max Gentry, Kensi. I was Max for months. And he was me. You've no idea what it's like, do you? To go in so deep undercover that you literally become someone else? No, of course you don't, because you've gone used an alias for a few hours, maybe a couple of days at the most. Well, I've got news for you – I lived as Max Gentry for so long that at the end I couldn't tell where he ended and I began. Or even if there was any difference between us."

"You're nothing like Max."

"How the hell would you know? When I was Max, I felt like I was invincible, I felt powerful. And that felt great. Do you have any idea how much I sometimes wanted to be Max? To actually be him for the rest of my life? No, you don't have the faintest idea of what I'm talking about. All those temptations – when Max didn't like someone, he just beat the shit out of them. Have you any idea how liberating that was? Or how frightened I was that Max was going to take over, so that there was nothing of me left?"

_It was like I was being eaten alive, from the inside out. And when I was with Nicole, that was the only time I could escape. She kept me sane. _

"You're not Max. You never were. I could never love Max."

"But Nicole could. She was the one decent person in my life. Or Max's life. She could see past everything – and still love me. Or Max. Maybe she even loved both of us. But that was a long time ago and I'm not in love with her, so why can't you just believe me" Marty smashed his fist against the wooden panelling in frustration.

"Maybe because I can never quite believe I'm good enough for you? Or that you could really love me. Because I'm such a bitch to you and I keep pushing you away and hurting you. And I don't mean to, really I don't. And I do love you. More than anything."

"What do you mean you're not good enough?" Marty turned around, a shocked expression on his face.

"Because I'm so screwed up."

"And I'm not?" he asked incredulously.

"You're bloody golden boy." Kensi stepped forward and slipped her arms around him. "You could do anything you wanted. Look at you - - you went to Harvard Law."

"And then I threw it all away and joined the LAPD. Which was pretty much me sticking two fingers up at my family. Being bloody-minded and refusing to do what they expected of me."

Kensi shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah right, make it sound like an act of rebellion. And exactly how long did it take for you to become a detective?"

"Not long. But maybe I was just lucky?" Marty buried his face in her hair. "About Nicole? I did love her, back then. But I wasn't in love with her, if that makes sense. She showed me that not everything in Max's world had to be dark. And she saved me. "

_And if you don't trust me now, Kensi, what's going to happen if I have to go back and be Max again? He's a bastard who hates everyone and is only out for one thing – himself. And what worries me more than anything is that maybe there's more of Max in me than I like to admit. It scares the shit out of me, because I don't know if you'll still love me once you see what Max is really like._

"How?" Kensi couldn't restrain herself any longer and undid the first two buttons on his shirt and then slipped her hand inside with a small sigh of pleasure.

"She let me be myself. Not Max. She let me escape from him. And then she loved me despite everything. It was like confirmation that there was still something decent left inside me. Something worthwhile." He was breathing hard now, as her hand roamed over his chest, warm and soft: tantalising him, arousing him, driving away the dark thoughts as his mind focused on one thing only – Kensi, and the way she made him feel.

Kensi raked her fingernails across his nipple and smiled at his involuntary intake of breath. "You're the most decent man I know." She undid the remaining buttons. "Even if you are indecently gorgeous."

"Can we lie down before I fall over?" Marty begged. "So I can show you how much I love you. Since we got together – pretty much since I was shot in fact, there's only been you."

"I fell for you the first time we met," she admitted, leading him over to the bed.

"I know. You couldn't take your eyes off me in the gym. Kept giving me all these longing looks when you thought I wasn't looking."

"Did not. You really knew, right from the start? Honestly?" She looked genuinely surprised.

"Uh huh." Marty started kissing her, starting at the nape of her neck and working slowly down. "You were pretty obvious. In fact, you were practically panting."

"You want to make me pant some more?" Kensi wasn't above begging; well,not when there was something in it for her.

He raised his head and looked directly at her. "I want you to tell me what I have to do to make you believe that I love you – only you."

"How about you keep telling me that? And keep doing that." She squirmed delightedly. "And that too."

"Not a problem." His lips were roaming all over her body now and Kensi yelped in delight. But at the far corner of his mind, an unpleasant thought kept niggling away. _Can I trust you Kensi? Can I trust that you'll still love me if I have to go undercover and live as Max again? Because sooner or later, that's where this case is leading us. And I need to know_ _I won't lose you. I got over Nicole – but I don't think I could ever get over you._

Later, much later, Kensi lay staring out of the window, trying to work things out in her mind. Marty slept fitfully at her side, frowning in his sleep. No matter what, she kept coming back to one name: EJ Barratt. She had to be behind all this – first the fire, and then that poor bloody Marine, whoever he was. With a shock Kensi realised that they hadn't even bothered to ask his name, where he was from or even how he had died. All they had been able to think about was EJ. Since when had they been so callous, so detached that they only viewed a death in terms of how it impinged upon them?

_Since this whole mess started – Operation Frankenstein. Only the Doctor in the story was trying to create life and they are dealing in death. Bloody EJ. When I catch up with her – and I will catch up with her, sooner or later – she's going to regret the day she ever messed with my life._

Marty moved restlessly, muttering some incoherent words in his sleep and Kensi curled up against him, resting her head on his chest, and entwining her fingers in with his.

_As long as we've got each other, we can beat this. I know we can. I just have to keep believing that._

* * *

><p><em>Because I believe that underneath all the the joking, there is a dark side to Deeks in the show - as we saw briefly when Max Gentry appeared. And that has to be frightening, when you feel that begining to take over. And also because I love to make them suffer...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Five. **

_Warning: this chapter contains adult material and is therefore rated "M". _

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><p>Out of the corner of her eye, Kensi could see the clock on the bedside table and watched as the hands slowly progressed around the face. She knew she was prevaricating dreadfully, but she wanted to stay here, her body wrapped around Marty's as she watched him sleep for as long as possible. She wanted to stay cocooned from the harsh realities that lay outside the four walls of this room for as long as possible.<p>

_Marty's wrong – he's not Max Gentry. He's nothing like him. The man I know is loving and funny and sweet, he's good with kids and he's loyal to the point of it almost being ridiculous. Oh my God – I've just described a Golden Retriever, haven't I? Whereas Max is more like a pitbull. Only prettier. Maybe a Golden Retriever with rabies?_

After a while, she looked at the clock again and saw it was now after six. "Marty?" He was now sprawled across most of the bed, in the typical way that seemed to be common to all men, lying on his stomach, with his head buried in the pillows and seemingly dead to the world. "Marty?" Kensi spoke a bit louder this time and, just for good measure, ran her fingers down his spine, feeling each individual vertebrae, right down the entire length – all the way down to his ass."

"Wassup?" Marty's eyes remained resolutely shut and his voice was laced with exhaustion.

"Open your eyes," she coaxed.

"I'm tired. Just wanna sleep." There was just the slightest hint of a pout, which she found ridiculously endearing and Kensi was tempted to leave him alone, but there was the pressing matter of the promised phone call to Jack. And having let down one of the Brandel family already that day, she wasn't about to repeat the same mistake. Plus, there was the fact that her stomach was making ominous rumbling noises, reminding her that the last thing she'd eaten was a deep-fried Mars Bar, which had actually been a lot better than it sounded.

"Come on." Kensi eased herself across the bed and then nimbly insinuated her body on top of his, so that she was lying over him, her body entirely covering his, pressing herself so closely it was as if they were almost melting into each other.

"Not fair. You play dirty."

"You should know that by now." She nipped his ear-lobe gently between her teeth and then ran her tongue lazily around the outer surfaces before darting it inside.

Marty groaned deeply even as he shivered in delight. There was something about the combination of the warmth and moistness of her tongue, plus the sensation of her breath that made his ears incredibly sensitive and erogenous. He tried to roll over, but found he was pinned in place by her solid warmth. "I give in. You win."

"Are you sure you're awake?" Kensi rolled off and stared at him accusingly.

"Oh yes." In turn Marty rolled onto his side so that he was lying facing her and pushed the covers aside. "See? I'm definitely not sleeping."

"You've got to call your Dad."

"I will. Later. Something's come up."

"So I see. I'm impressed." Kensi reached out and pushed gently on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back.

"Flattery will get you everywhere." Marty lay watching as she knelt beside him and then swung one leg over his hips.

"Really? Is that a promise?" She was straddling him now, leaning over so that her hair fell forward on either side of his head and her breasts swung temptingly towards him.

"Oh yes. It'll start here, you see." One hand reached out and stroked her inner thigh gently and in automatic response Kensi moved a little closer to him, opened her legs a little wider, moved her hips so that his fingers tangled in the soft curls of her pubic hair. "And then it'll move up a little bit. Like this."

"Yes. Like that." Kensi closed her eyes in delight and sighed as he unerring found her most sensitive spot, caressing her, tantalising her. "Don't stop." He could do more to arouse her with one single finger-tip than most men could do with their entire bodies

"I've hardly begun." Marty watched as the emotions flickered across her face, getting more turned on by the second just watching her, listening to her, feeling how slick she was becoming as a second finger joined the first in roaming over her and then easing slowly inside her. "You feel so good."

Kensi straightened up, arched her back and let his fingers sink deep inside her, reaching down almost lazily with her hand to curl her fingers around his erection and feel the resultant throb. "You feel like heaven. And you're going to feel even better…" She guided him towards her, raising her hips slowly and then hesitating for just a second.

"Open your eyes. I want to watch you .I want you to watch me."

"That is a seriously sexy idea."

Marty put his hands around her hips as he moved up towards her and Kensi tilted her pelvis upwards just a fraction, her eyes never leaving his as slowly, little by little, with exquisite slowness he glided into her. "Keep looking at me." He eased back down again, his hands lifting her upwards until he was barely inside her at all and Kensi whimpered in frustration. "You trust me, don't you?" His voice was soft and tense.

"I trust you." It was an effort to get the words out, when her whole body was screaming for him.

"Good. Just keep looking at me." And he was sinking inside her again, this time as deeply as possible and she exhaled with the sheer pleasure of the sensation and started to move slowly, before gathering pace as they adjusted to each other's rhythms, never once breaking eye contact. Kensi orgasm hit without warning in a shuddering crescendo that made her feel as if she was teetering on the edge of an abyss, about to crash over and Marty saw a look of pure abandonment in her eyes just before her face relaxed into softness. And then he came almost immediately afterwards, came almost frantically, in a jerking judder that left him feeling completely drained and yet at the same time entirely relaxed.

"Stay inside me." Kensi instructed and contracted her muscles gently and watched the expression of wonder on Marty's face as he felt her grip him, refusing to let him go, surrounding him, almost enveloping him.

"Anyone ever tell you how amazing you are?"

"Sure, plenty of times. Don't you know I'm Wonder Woman?"

* * *

><p><em>Slushy plot bunny is delerious with excitement now and has had to go and lie down in a darkened hutch to recover. And as if that little bit of naughtiness wasn't enough excitement for one day - I'm not working tomorrow, which might just mean a bit more action is forthcoming. Not necessarily bedroom action, I hasten to add - but then again - who can tell?<em>


	6. Chapter 6

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Six. **

Nico closed the door behind her, leaving Kensi and Marty to try to work things out. She looked at Callen desparingly. "Is it just me, or do sometimes feel your hand itching?"

"You've lost me." He looked suitably blank.

"Kensi. Sometimes I really have this urge to slap some sense into her."

Callen felt duty-bound to defend his team-mate, even if he did secretly agree with Nico. "Don't be too hard on her. She's had a lot to cope with."

"My heart bleeds."

"Actually, I quite often want to give Deeks a smack on the back of his head," he admitted "That's probably what Gibbs would do."

"You've already knocked him out. I think that's more than enough to be going on with. And who's Gibbs when he's at home?"

"He's an NCIS team leader back in Washington. Ex- Marine Gunnery Sergeant and pretty much a living legend. Straight as a die."

"And he smacks his team? He sounds lovely. Remind me to give him a wide berth."

"Usually it's just Di Nozzo he smacks. And I canunderstand that, because DiNozzos' s kind of like Deeks, in a lot of ways. They're both rich, good looking and they've both got the same sort of annoying habits, like talking too much without thinking first."

"Sounds like this Gibbs guy might have a bit of a thing for DiNozzo, if you ask me," Nico said slyly.

Callen's jaw dropped. "Gibbs? Hardly. Apart from anything else, he's been married three times. Or is it four?"

"That proves nothing. Even Michael Jackson was married for crying out loud."

"No way. I've worked with Gibbs."

"You work with Eric and you didn't have a clue he was gay, did you?" Nico was beginning to enjoy this. It wasn't easy to wrong-foot Callen and she intended to make the most of it. "For all you know, this Gibbs and DiNozzo could be having a mad, passionate affair right under your nose. They might be heavily into BDSM and sometimes Gibbs can't restrain himself."

"Not all relationships are defined purely in terms of sex, you know." Callen really didn't want to think about the image he'd just been presented with, although he had this vague idea it would come back to haunt him when he least expected it – like the next time he met Gibbs, for example.

"Yes they are. Don't deny it. You either fancy someone, or you don't. If you fancy them, then you sometimes think about them sexually and imagine what it would be like to have sex with them." She saw the look on his face. "What? I'm only saying, that's all. I bet guys do that all the time – wonder what it would be like to have sex with random women."

"Guys do, sure." Callen looked uncomfortable.

Nico smirked. "I've got news for you – women do exactly the same thing. Why wouldn't we?"

"Okay – so, if I was to say - just for example, you understand - Sam, what would you say? Hypothetically speaking."

"Sam?" She pretended to consider this for all of thirty seconds. "I'd say: hot. That would be my gut reaction. And then I'd say "yes please". Sam's got what it takes, after all. What's not to like?"

"Really? You'd have sex with Sam?"

_She could have at least pretended. There was no need to be quite so honest._

"No, not really." Nico sighed. Men simply couldn't get into the same mind-set as women. How many evenings had she sat with her girl-friends, drinking too much, rating all the men they knew and laughing so much their sides hurt? "We're talking about fantasies here. Understand? Not reality. And Sam makes a very nice fantasy lover. Very caring, don't you know? Masterful: strong and silent."

"Actually, I'm a screamer," Sam said, appearing behind her without warning. "Denise bought one of these ball-gags after the neighbours complained about being awake at nights, only I nearly bit through it." He sauntered downstairs to the kitchen, trying desperately to keep a straight face. Callen looked as if he was going to choke.

"Your turn," Nico said to Callen, when she'd finally recovered her composure. "Nell. Would you or wouldn't you?"

_I wanted to say Kensi, but there's a part of me that's too scared to ask._

Callen shook his head. "Nope. She's too much like your best-friend's kid sister."

"Forbidden fruit can be the sweetest."

"You think like a guy, Nico – when it comes to sex, anyway."

_Jesus - you're like the female-equivalent of Deeks, aren't you? This sweet, innocent face hiding an ex-rated mind. And I wonder what you would have said if I'd named Deeks instead of Sam? Only I'm not quite sure if I want to go there. Except, I would, kind of. I think. I'd like to know – it'sjust that I don't know how I'd cope with the answer._

"And you've talked to how many women about fantasy sex, Callen? How do you know we don't all feel like this – and you're only finding out about it right now? Because believe you me, women enjoy sex as much as men do and we think about it a lot. And given you're not going to see the big 4-0 again, I'd say that makes you kind of a slow learner."

"So I'm not big on talking." Callen grabbed hold of her. "I've got other talents that make up for it."

"Women love to talk. Haven't you noticed?"

"I let them talk. I'm a great listener. I just do other things." His hand moved up her back and neatly unfastened her bra strap." Like that."

"Smooth operator."

"You want to take this somewhere more private?"

Nico grinned happily at him. "Seeing you've come over all coy, why not?"

_We're going to continue this conversation though, no matter how much you try to distract me. Preferably after several rounds of drinks._

* * *

><p>They'd arranged to meet Jack, Rowena and Hetty in a small restaurant just off the Royal Mile, half-hidden down one of the closes that snaked down between the tall, crow-stepped buildings and provided a maze like series of access to hidden courtyards. It was sufficiently out of the way not to be packed out by the tourists that were already starting to crowd the city and yet central enough to have an elite clientele. Having played in the Edinburgh International Festival for several years in a row, Nico had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the best pubs in town and it appeared that she was dead-set on introducing Callen to as many of them as possible. Consequently, they found themselves in a magnificent Victorian bar, dominated by a circular mahogany bar, resplendent with brass work and mirrors and boasting a bewildering array of beers and whiskys.<p>

"Teaching us how to drink deep, are you?" Marty asked. "I don't want to be charged with being drunk in charge of a pair of crutches, you know."

"I wouldn't worry," a tall man with bright red hair and a chalk-striped suit said. "Half the legal profession in Edinburgh drinks in here, so you'd not find yourself short of a lawyer."

"Let's just hope EJ doesn't know about this place then."


	7. Chapter 7

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Seven. **

"Do we tell Hetty about the dead Marine?" Kensi asked. "I mean, she is still officially on leave. And Vance did send that British agent to see us – not her."

Marty stared at her incredulously. "Good luck with explaining that to Hetty when she finds out – and she will find out. That woman knows everything. Nothing escapes her beady glare. I have this recurring nightmare where we're making love and I look up and there she is, sitting at the side of the bed taking notes."

"Does she give marks for technical merit and artistic impression?" Sam asked, somehow managing to keep a straight face, while Kensi felt herself blushing scarlet. "You'll probably find out in your annual performance appraisal. "Detective Deeks applies himself with considerable aptitude and dedication to duty." Or words to that effect."

"See what I mean about Deeks shooting his mouth off before engaging his brain?" Callen whispered to Nico.

"You think Sam's much better?" she hissed back.

"Hetty's going to want to run this, you know that as well as I do," Deeks continued, not noticeable abashed. "She's kind of got this whole control thing going."

"That's fine by me. And it is her job to take charge of things. No offense to you, Callen – but why would anyone have a problem with Hetty assuming control? Deeks is hobbling around, you've got an eye out of commission again and right now EJ's running rings around our butts. Let's be honest – we need all the help we can get." Sam lifted his glass and drained it with obvious relish. "Have we got time for another pint before we meet them?"

"Why not? There's still about another dozen we've not tried yet." Callen eyed the labels on the beer pumps with interest.

"You don't have to try them all tonight."

"Just because you're popping pain pills and are on orange juice."

"I won't be tomorrow." Deeks flashed a grin. "But then I won't be fighting off a hangover tomorrow either. That stuff's stronger than you're used to."

"I've worked all around the world," Callen said airily. "Germany, for example. Now, they know how to brew beer."

"You want a German beer?"

"No, I was just saying." He took another quick scan at the choices on offer. "Give me a pint of Belhaven Eighty Shilling."

Kensi decided to stay on soda water and lime. "Looks like it'll be you and me at the Mortuary tomorrow, Marty."

"You and Sam, more like. I'm just a lowly liaison officer. I'll be having a nice, long lie-in." He saw the look in Kensi's eyes and swiftly back-pedalled. Clearly he wasn't getting any more leeway on account of being injured. "Or I could be working on-line? Maybe finding out about this Marine? Like might have made him a target?"

"That sounds more like it. Though something tells me he was just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we need to get more information. At the moment we're just shooting in the dark."

"This EJ," Nico asked. "Is she any good? I mean, as an agent?"

"If you're asking can she look after herself, evade capture and cover her tracks, manipulate situations to her own advantage and kill in a dozen different ways – then the answer's yes. In spades."

"And what's her motivation here?"

Callen sat down beside her. "Revenge. The oldest thing in the world. EJ was shown up big time, and more than that, she was exposed before the whole of NCIS. And now she wants to stop more of her secrets coming out."

"And you're sure that's the only reason? Because, I know I'm a total amateur here, but it just seems that all this seems a little extreme, even for someone like EJ. Are you sure there isn't something else going on?" Nico sipped her gin and tonic slowly and with evident enjoyment.

"Maybe she wants Callen back?" Sam offered. "Anyway she can get him."

"Yeah right. She would have got me in a body bag if we hadn't managed to get out of that house just in time."

"She wanted you back?" Nico put her drink down on the table. "You were with EJ?" The pitch and volume of her voice rose alarmingly at the end of the sentence.

"It was a long time ago."

"It was three years ago," Sam reminded him, having learned that there was no point in trying to prevaricate with women, especially with women who knew you intimately. They could spot a half-truth at twenty paces and shoot you dead in the water with just a look.

"Like I said: it was a long time ago. And it was just a fling. Nothing more."

"Meaningless sex?" Nico asked in a deadpan voice.

"Totally." He met her gaze steadily. "And if you were to ask me another question, then the answer would be "no". Not in a million years."

"That's all right then. As long as that's all there was to it."

"That's all there was to it. EJ's not big on commitment to anyone but herself."

"Plus, she screwed up an operation, and Callen ended up in the hospital."

"I didn't know that." Kensi nudged Deeks. "Look into that tomorrow, will you? Find out what went on her file. And maybe see if you can hold of Nate – I'd be interested to see what he makes of EJ."

"Enough of EJ. We're working tomorrow, but tonight we're off-duty and out on the town."

"Translation – Callen wants to play."

"Why not?" The beer was going to his head now, and Callen's voice was louder than usual. "After dinner, let's hit the clubs."

When they exited a short time later, there was a cab waiting for them: just another party of American tourists, enjoying everything the city had to offer. It was still light despite being mid-evening, and the air was mild. A lone piper standing just up the street was trying to persuade passers-by to part with their small change and there was no reason that anyone should notice the slim woman in the raincoat and headscarf on the other side of the street, who watched them with evident interest, before darting down another of the narrow closes, escaping back into the shadows. When all was said and done, EJ Barratt was a good agent: so far she'd been on the run for over 24 hours and was hiding in plain sight. All she had to do was to keep watching and waiting. And when the time was right, she'd put the next part of her plan into action. Because Operation Frankenstein wasn't over, not by a long way: it was only just beginning.

_s_


	8. Chapter 8

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter EIght. **

_A very short morning interlude. Contains adult material._

* * *

><p>Sunlight poured in through the window, the centuries-old glass diffusing it so that it cast rainbow shadows on the wide polished floorboards. Kensi woke up with a shaft of clear sunlight falling across her eyes, with the peculiar intensity found in this northern place, where the sun could shine so brightly in a pale sky. Beside her, Marty was still deep in sleep, his face relaxed and totally at peace. She loved mornings like this, when there was no especial urgency to get up and face the day, when things could simply unfold at their own pace. Outside, the birds were singing, heralding the start of a beautiful day. And here she was, lying in bed with the man she loved. Things seemed pretty damned perfect. Of course, they would be even better if he was actually awake.<p>

She moved closer, draping her arm across his shoulders, dropping small kisses across his face, brushing the soft, golden stubble, before finally meeting his lips. Morning kisses, soft and gentle, languid and yet with a hint of promise. Marty responded almost automatically when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and then his erection nudged at her leg.

"Good morning." Their faces were inches apart, and then they were kissing again, more deeply this time, and his hands were tangling in her hair, and his erection was moving strongly against her and it was the easiest thing in the world just to move slightly, so that he could enter her and start rocking back and forwards lazily, almost as if he was still in the throes of a particularly vivid erotic dream. And the kiss continued the whole time, as their bodies locked together and moved in a slow, joyful rhythm that gradually got faster and deeper.

"Oh God. Kensi." Marty's head arched up and back when he came, his buttocks clenched tightly and she could feel him shuddering within her and that was almost the best part of all. And then he collapsed, laying his golden head on her breasts, exhausted and almost ready to slip back into sleep.

She lay there, content and sated, stroking his hair, as the sunlight played across their bodies. Yes, Kensi loved mornings like this. She wished this one could last forever. Someday, when she was old, she thought that she would remember this moment: how wonderful it was; how it made everything worthwhile and she thought that she would smile at the memory. Most of all, she would know that she was loved and that the knowledge made everything else pale into utter insignificance.

* * *

><p><em>Slushy plot bunny says he never gets morning like that and looks quite huffy. I suspect he is trying to pout, but as he doesn't actually have any lips, he's none too successful.<em>


	9. Chapter 9

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Nine. **

"They dropped the bomb, didn't they?" Callen moaned piteously.

Nico sat at the dressing table, blasting her hair with a hairdryer. "Awake at last?" she asked sardonically, observing him in the mirror. "Good. Because I've been up for hours." The third time Callen had staggered into the bathroom to be violently sick, complete with all the associated unpleasant sound effects, had been the final straw for her. Any possible sympathy she might have had was long gone.

"My head really hurts." The sunlight even seemed to work its way through the dressings over his right eye, baling an imprint onto the retina that felt as if someone was stabbing him with a hot poker.

"Really? What a surprise. Hold the front page. Man with hangover has a headache." She finished styling her hair and turned around to face the bed. "You were warned, but no, you had to keep on drinking. Until three a.m."

"The other guys in the club were drinking too," he protested, wondering if he was going to be sick again. Why did beer taste so great going down and so awful coming back up?

"They're Scottish - they're used to it. You're not. And, they weren't mixing their drinks like you were. Go and stand under the shower, because the alcohol is coming out of your pores. I can smell you from here and it's not pleasant. And then come down for breakfast."

Callen went a delicate shade of green. "I couldn't eat." His stomach started to do a series of lazy backflips at the very thought and he had to concentrate on breathing very slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

"You're eating." It was a statement of fact and Callen had learnt not to argue with Nico when she used that tone of voice. "I learnt this great hangover cure, last time I visited."

"As long as it doesn't involve porridge. I still haven't recovered from the bowl they gave me in hospital."

"It doesn't involved porridge." Further than that, Nico refused to be drawn, which made Callen suspect the worse. He was pleasantly surprised to come down into the kitchen to the smell of bacon cooking.

"Drink this." Nico handed him a glass full of a bubbling, translucent orange liquid. "And then eat your bacon roll."

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing the glass suspiciously.

"A soda called Irn Bru. My Scottish friends all swear that the combination of that and a bacon roll is the only way to beat a hangover. Other than having another drink, that is."

"No way. I'm never drinking again." He sniffed the drink suspiciously and took a tentative sip. "This isn't too bad."

Nico decided to let the remark about not drinking pass without comment. She gave him 36 hours at the most before the temptation of visiting another pub became too great to resist. "Better than a prairie oyster?"

"Much." Callen had always found the egg yolk unpleasantly reminiscent of an eyeball. He bit into the roll with evident relish and started to think that the day might actually be bearable after all.

* * *

><p>"What time did you finally get back?" Kensi and Sam were on their way across town to the US Consulate to pick up the necessary paperwork.<p>

"I got back just after one. By myself. Callen was looking set to make a night of it. He was pretty hammered when I left ." Sam was feeling slightly delicate and he hated to think what sort of state his teammate would be in. "You and Deeks probably did the right thing by going straight home after dinner."

"It's kind of hard to dance when you're on crutches." Kensi allowed herself a private smile when she thought back to earlier that morning; injured leg or not, Marty had proved very adept at horizontal dancing, for which she was truly thankful.

"Callen finds it hard to dance period." Sam was trying very hard to keep his mind focussed on work, which wasn't easy, given that he'd hoped to be on a plane back to California by now. He and Denise had chatted by Skype when he'd got back after dinner, and she'd waved the positive pregnancy test joyfully at him. More than anything, he wanted to be with her, to hold her in his arms and talk about this new baby – their new baby. But here he was, stuck in Scotland and it leeched some of the joy out of him. Denise had tried to be upbeat about things, but he could tell she was disappointed, and who could blame her? This was the sort of thing they should have been able to celebrate together as a family. He was trying very hard to choke down his disappointment, but it was hard. It would have helped if he had been able to speak to someone about it, but Denise was only a few weeks pregnant and she wanted to wait before they announced their news.

The Consulate staff handed over a navy blue folder containing all the necessary documentation, already signed and sealed, permitting the authorised transport of one PFC Adam Stoddart, late of the US Marine Corps back to the United States of America. They didn't seem particularly interested or concerned, just pleased that someone else had taken over responsibility for this unfortunate incident.

"At least we've got a name for him," Kensi said sadly, reading the printed label as they drove off again. She opened the folder and scanned the details on the cover sheet. "He was twenty nine, Sam. Almost the same age as me."

"I remember being twenty nine. I thought I could do anything. I still think that, only my body keeps reminding me I'm not. I do something stupid and it hurts a lot more the next day than it did when I was younger . And it takes a whole lot longer to heal afterwards."

"I still feel like I'm about seventeen half the time."

"That would make Deeks about five then. On a good day."

"There are times when I don't much like being grown-up," Kensi confessed. "I'd still like someone to tell me they'll take care of everything and I'm not to worry. It sucks being an adult."

"Can't disagree with you. But wait till you're a parent and then it really hits home. You've got this tiny human being who is totally dependent on you for everything. Nobody can prepare you for the sheer terror of the day you bring your baby home and you shut the door. You're standing there, holding your baby who is screaming his head off and that's when it hits you – you've made this little person and you are responsible for making sure he stays alive. It's all up to you. I damned near ran straight out of the house crying for my own Mom. But it'll be easier this time. We know what to expect." He thumped the steering wheel in anger. "Shit. Forget I said that, will you?"

"I'll forget – in a few minutes. After you've told me some more details. Like when? And are you and Denise happy? And how is she? God, this is so great, Sam.

Sam couldn't stop himself smiling. "We only found out for sure yesterday, so the baby won't be here until early in the New Year. And of course we're happy. I guess that's why I blurted it out. Denise is fine, she's going to her OB tomorrow, so we'll know more about things after that. Promise you won't say anything – to anyone?"

"My lips are sealed." Kensi placed her thumb and forefinger together and drew them across her mouth. "I won't say a word. Not even to Marty."

"Especially not to him. He'll go mad, buying up every tartan onesie he can find and then bugging me to let that dog of his be a godparent."

"You could do worse."

"I know - I could ask Deeks." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Actually, in all seriousness, we were thinking of asking him. Seeing as how he saved Crosby's life, you know?"

"He'd love that. And he's brilliant with children."

"Yeah, that's true. Of course, Deeks can relate to kids on their own level, because he's never grown up in the first place."

"On days like these, I kind of wish I hadn't either." Kensi looked down at the folder and repressed a shudder. She hated doing body identifications at the best of times, but this case seemed particularly poignant, especially if it turned out the poor guy had merely been a pawn in the perverted game EJ was playing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Ten. **

The body of PFC Adam Stoddart was waiting for them at the City Mortuary, along with Sarah Macleod, who was doing her very best not to appear impatient. From the photographs in their file, it appeared that in life, Stoddart had been a tall man, with dark hair that had already started to recede, narrow lips and a barrel-chest. In death, the post-mortem images showed that he still looked an physically imposing character. He lay in an anonymous metal container, already sealed. It was a sobering and rather ignominious sight.

"Stoddart had a particularly violent death," the pathologist remarked. "One of the worst cases of torture I've ever seen. Your Marine had been "knee-capped", a procedure we in Great Britain used to associate with IRA punishments – usually doled out to informers. Contrary to popular belief, the knee-cap itself isn't involved: instead the victim has a gun barrel place on the side of the joint, which blows the ends of both bones off. Few people walk again after that and the pain must be excruciating. This man had the same injury to both legs."

Kensi could feel her gorge rise at this information. The smell of formalin was also affecting her, despite the air-conditioning. "That didn't kill him, though."

"No, it didn't. Knee-capping results in some loss of blood, but it's primarily used as a warning – to the victim and to others. But that wasn't all. Whoever killed this man didn't use a gun to torture him – they used a drill."

"A drill?" Sam wondered if he was hearing correctly.

"A drill. Probably a standard DIY tool, the sort you can pick up in any hardware store. It must have been excruciatingly painful. Each injury would have taken at least two minutes to inflict – possibly more, depending on the speed and power of the drill. Your man was tied up and subjected to a brutal and sustained attack. I'd almost say it was inhuman, except I've seen too much evidence to the contrary." The pathologist took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I would imagine that death must have been a welcome release to PFC Stoddart, when it eventually came. But that took some time. I estimate he lived for around two hours afterwards."

Kensi tried not to think too hard about what Stoddart must have gone through in those hours. It sounded like they had a madman – or woman – on their hands.

_So why isn't this headline news? Why aren't the police involved? You've got a city full of tourists and some insane killer running around and nobody seems to be bothered. This is dirty, as dirty as it gets._

"What was the official cause of death?" Sam noticed that the British Agent showed no surprise about this information, which was clearly already known to her. He schooled himself not to react to the litany of hate PFC Stoddart had been subjected to, but his mind was working overtime.

_The killer took their time over this – they didn't just want Stoddart dead, they wanted him to really suffer first. So they were confident, probably trained and had a secure location, where they weren't going to be disturbed, or overheard. And not one single word of this has leaked out to the media. Curious. Ms MacLeod must wield a very powerful axe. Or could Leon be wielding power all the way from California?_

The pathologist didn't need to look at his notes. Every detail of this case was engrained on his memory. "Cause of death is a series of blows to the head – to the back of the head. Using a hammer. His skull was effectively smashed in like an eggshell. But they left his face unmarked, possibly to aid identification. They broke all his fingers and toes as well, by the way. It's impossible to say if those injuries occurred before or after the knee-capping, but in my opinion they were just gratuitous violence. I'd say whoever did this took their time, because they were enjoying themselves. But of course, that would just be speculation."

"Backed up by experience." Sam extended his hand. "Thanks for all your help."

"My pleasure." The pathologist handed across another folder of papers. "My report, the official death certificate and the report from the Procurator Fiscal. And the release papers for you to sign."

Sam scrawled his signature. "We've arranged for the body to be picked up later this morning and taken straight to the airport, for transport back home."

"One last thing. I found this metal pellet in his wrist. It had been surgically implanted. I've no idea what it is, but it might be important?"

Sam found himself holding a small plastic container, containing a cylindrical metal object, less than an inch long. "It's probably nothing," he said, and casually stuffed it into his pocket. Beside him, Kensi was doing a great job of looking bored out of her skull, examining her nails with great interest.

"We appreciate your assistance," Sarah said formally, before adding her signature to the release papers. She and Kensi walked out together, and Sam could hear Kensi disingenuously requesting details of the best nail bars in town.

"I appreciate the briefing, doctor. And all your work." He handed his card across. "Just in case you need to contact me."

"Nobody seemed particularly interested in that poor man. Or finding out who did this to him. To die like that – so far from home. And in my country." He sighed. "I just hope whoever did this is apprehended before they strike again."

"Me too." Sam shook his hand again and followed Kensi out to the car.

"That was unpleasant." Kensi was breathing deeply through her mouth. She thought she'd have another shower when she got back home, because the smell of the Mortuary seemed to cling to her clothes. "EJ's handiwork?"

"I'd bet my life on it. Those details of the knee-capping? That sort of detail isn't common knowledge outside a very small circle of people."

"Whoever did this was very confident. And they wanted to send a message."

"But to who? To us or to someone else?" The container with the metal pellet felt as if was burning a hole in his pocket. There were too many threads left hanging in the wind with this enquiry, and nobody seemed at all interested in tying them into bows. Everything about this case was setting Sam's nerves jangling. "And what exactly is the killer trying to say – apart from the fact that they will stop at nothing?"

"Good questions. Let's go and see what Marty's managed to find out."


	11. Chapter 11

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Eleven. **

_A small slice of "afternoon delight". There must be something in the water because randy plot bunny has been active these past few days… Not that I'm complaining, you understand._

* * *

><p>When they got back, it was to discover Callen was sitting drinking coffee in the kitchen with a morose expression on his face. From the sounds of Mozart drifting down from the drawing room, Nico was in the midst of practicing. She was using considerable volume and verve, rather more than was strictly required.<p>

"Where's Deeks?" Sam wisely avoided asking Callen how he was feeling, seeing the evidence with his own eyes.

Callen raised eyes that looked like two poached eggs on a platter. "Upstairs. Somewhere. He disappeared with the laptop." His voice was rough and gravelly.

Kensi ran up the broad staircase that curved around the stairwell, her hand running lightly over the polished oak handrail as so many other hands must have done over the centuries. She was beginning to love this house, with its sense of history, its gorgeous proportions and the way that light seemed to flood into all the rooms. "Marty?" Her voice floated up towards the glass cupola that crowned the ceiling and let the sunshine pour down the walls like molten honey.

"Up here." His voice was very faint, as if he was a long way away. Kensi ran up the final flight of stairs to the top floor. All the doors were lying wide open, displaying the empty rooms, with no sign of any occupants.

"Stop messing around. We've got work to do. There's no time to play hide and seek."

_Although that could be really good fun, in a house this size. If we were alone. Which we never seem to be. There's always someone else around._

"I'm up here. On the roof. Look up, if you don't believe me."

Kensi lifted her gaze up to the cupola and, sure enough, there was a familiar blond head looking down at her through the glass. "You're on the roof?" Sometimes she despaired of ever understanding the way his mind worked.

"Of course I'm on the roof," he said matter of factly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. "There's a staircase in the cupboard in the back bedroom."

Muttering a variety of curses under her breath, Kensi picked her way gingerly up the narrow and incredibly steep wooden stairs, pushing open a door at the top. Coming out of the subdued gloom into the bright sunlight temporarily blinded her for a few seconds as her eyes adjusted. "Wow. That's… just amazing."

Standing three stories up, on the flat roof of a two hundred year-old house gave a whole new perspective on the City, from the dark, brooding mass of the Castle, down to the honey-coloured buildings of the New Town and their private, tree-lined gardens before sloping gently down towards the shimmering silver-blue sea. Kensi turned slowly around, enchanted by the panoramas that unfolded before her eyes. "What a view," she breathed.

Marty stood before her, his hands on his hips and a broad grin on his face. That was the only thing he was wearing, other than the long dressing that covered the wound on his leg. "Thank you kindly, ma'am."

"You're naked," Kensi said accusingly.

"I'm naked," he agreed cheerfully.

"What would you have done if Sam had been with me?"

"I checked – you saw me checking, for crying out loud. Anyway – Sam's not here and it's totally private. So why don't you join me?" His eyes held a familiar sparkle as he stood there, unabashed and perfectly comfortable in his own skin.

"In your dreams."

"Nice image. I'll file that one away for future reference: Kensi amidst the Georgian splendours, as naked as the way God intended her to be." What had originally started off as just an opportunity to get in some sun-bathing while he worked was now turning in to something completely different. Besides which, Marty reasoned, he'd been hard at it for a couple of hours and was due a break.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Kensi was beginning to weaken, and her eyes kept drifting longingly over his toned body.

"Of course I am. Alone with the woman of my dreams on a sun-baked rooftop. What's not to enjoy?"

"Stop tempting me."

Come on: don't be a spoilsport." He stroked her shoulder enticingly, letting his hand drift down to her breast.

"We've got work to do," Kensi protested weakly. Even she could hear how half-hearted her voice sounded. It was awfully tempting: the sun was shining, they were hidden away from sight and Marty looked so damned amazing just standing there smiling at her.

"We can work up here. That's what I've been doing. You get a great signal and it's nice and quiet," he said persuasively.

Well, he had a point, Kensi supposed. Only she wasn't about to completely throw caution to the wind. "I'm not taking all my clothes off," she warned, stripping down to her bra and panties.

"That's a start, I suppose. I never had you pegged for the prudish type."

"I'm not prudish – I'm prudent." Kensi sat with her back against a sun-warmed chimney stack. "You want to show me what you've got?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He limped cautiously over to her, favouring his good leg.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Only his lips were roving over her body and his own body was warmed by the sun and so smooth and golden, the muscles standing out in ridged definition across his belly that it was impossible to resist. Which was pretty much par for the course, Kensi thought, as she slithered down to lie on the roof and enfolded Marty in her arms.


	12. Chapter 12

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twelve. **

"Stoddart was tortured?" Callen shook his head in disbelief as he read through the pathologist's findings, and the graphic details sunk into his mind. He had he was pretty much inured to violence, but this was something else altogether. "That stuff with the drill has to be one of the sickest things I've ever heard of."

"Agreed. EJ had to do something to make us sit up and take notice. She's really ramping up the pressure now. It's like she's trying to force us to make a move."

"You can't be sure it's EJ." Something inside Callen badly wanted it not to be EJ. Sure, she was a self-centred bitch and could be ruthless – but he struggled to believe that even she could drill through a man's bones slowly and shatter them while he was still conscious. That had to be the work of seriously deranged mind. The thought that he'd slept with her, and worse than that, had actually had feelings for her, was more than a little creepy.

"It's EJ. Believe me, it's her. She's playing with us – and she left us a little present." Sam reached into his pocket and withdrew the container holding the metal pellet.

"What the hell is that?" Callen examined the capsule from all angles, but it yielded no clues.

"Right now, your guess is as good as mine. We'll need to get it tested back in LA."

"You think we should go back then?"

"Damn right we should. Has the smoke addled your brain, or something, G? Because you don't seem to be firing on all four cylinders this morning." Sam had his own personal reasons for wanting to get back stateside as soon as possible, but he was trying very hard not to let these influence his decision. They needed to get EJ back onto their own home turf, where they had the support and facilities they lacked here.

Callen shot him a warning glance. "I just didn't sleep too well, that's all. I'm going to ring Hetty and get her to come over – see what her take on all this is."

"Good idea. I'll see if I can go and coax the resident love birds down, shall I?" Nico was still thundering away at the piano upstairs, crashing chords up and down the keyboard and using the sustain pedal rather than the composer had intended, judging by the vibrations. "And after you've spoken to Hetty, how about you go and persuade Nico to play something a little less… strident?"

"Do you ever tell Denise how to cook?"

"Not if I want to keep eating, rather than sucking puree through a straw."

"Exactly." Callen buried his head in his hands, as much to try to shut out the music as much as anything else. Nico was now storming through Chopin's Funeral March and the reverberating rhythm was sending percussive stabbing pains through his head.

"Call Hetty and set up a meeting. Then go upstairs, talk nice to Nico and take her out for a romantic walk. Apart from anything else, the fresh air will clear your head. OK? Sorted." Sometimes Sam felt he was assuming the role of elder statesman to the team when it came to relationships, and it got more than a little wearing.

"You're really quite bossy, aren't you?" Kensi observed, strolling in and placing the laptop on a counter.

"I prefer to think of it as being organised. And having an insight into my colleagues. Speaking of which, when is Deeks getting his butt into gear? We need to get going on this."

"I heard that. I can't exactly skip down the stairs right now, you know." Deeks came hobbling slowly into the kitchen and sat down on a chair with considerable relief.

Sam tried not to feel too guilty, and managed rather well. "Did you find out anything useful about our dead Marine?"

"Ah yes, PFC Adam Stoddart. Well, he had a less than stellar career, originally. Which you might have guessed, seeing as how he enlisted at the tender age of 18 and was still only a PFC. He seemed to have "issues", as they say. Meaning he was a surly son of a bitch, who rubbed just about everyone he met up the wrong way."

"Loads of disciplinary charges?" Sam guessed.

"You got it. Seemed generally unpopular with the officers and the men. But, despite all that, he was described as being technically very competent." Deeks leaned back in his chair and rubbed his leg carefully. "And we all know what that means."

"Translation: you want a dirty job done: Stoddart was your man," Kensi guessed.

"Give the girl a prize. And then, all of a sudden, Stoddart was removed from his unit, just over twelve months ago. Very quickly, very silently. And that set my spider senses tingling. And guess what? I was right."

Sam reached forward and patted him on the shoulder. "You want a gold star on the bottom of your homework or something? Like when you were back at grade school? Just get on with it."

"You're ruining my story, you know that? Nothing like a bit of dramatic tension to get everyone on the edge of their seats. You need to have a little more finesse, Sam. There's no sense in always running in with your guns blazing and being all "wham bam, thank you ma'am", about things."

"Oh, I don't know. Sometime being down and dirty has its place," Kensi assured him.

"I'm going to ignore that. Get on with the story, Deeks."

"Okay. Everyone sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. Turns out that Stoddart was sent on this "behaviour modification programme". Well, just looking at his prior record, you can see why, can't you? Two weeks prior to that, he'd riled up his unit so badly six of them took it in turns to work him over. So it made sense. Unless you knew that the programme also went under another name – our old friend, Operation Frankenstein."

That made Sam sit up and start paying attention. "Stoddart was another recruit? All the intell we've seen to date suggested that Jonas Cobb was the only one who made it through the entire programme. You're telling me there were two of them?"

"I'm telling you Stoddart was definitely another Frankenstein recruit. And my gut feeling is that his killer was too. Think about it – the way he was killed – it was personal. Otherwise why not just shoot him in the back of the head. No, whoever killed Stoddart took their time about it – because they were enjoying it. Old Adam had a knack for making enemies wherever he went, so it makes sense that he had put his killer's back up at some point."

"So you reckon EJ was another Frankenstein operative?" The more Sam thought about it, the more sense it made. The whole ethos that underlay Frankenstein was to train the operatives to remain calm and composed under the most extreme circumstances. Viewed another way, it taught how to kill in cold blood and without remorse by letting its recruits believe there would be no consequences and they would be above the law. EJ would have been the perfect recruit, because she was more than half-way there already.

"I'd bet my favourite surf board on it."

Sam blinked in astonishment. "Now I know you're really serious." Shit, this was getting worse by the second. "And there could be others out there too? This whole series of ticking time-bombs, just waiting to explode?"

"Or it could be that EJ has been sent out there to get rid of the evidence." Whichever way Kensi looked at things, the picture was still shitty. And they were up to their necks in it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter 13**

If music was indeed the food of love, then this particular meal was going to give him violent indigestion, Callen thought. Nico's hands moved up and down the keyboard in a blur, her head was bent forward and her eyes were closed as she worked out her feelings through the music. He thought he'd been moving soundlessly, that she was too wrapped up in pouring out her emotions through the music, but he was wrong.

"Did you know there is twenty tons of tensile pressure in the strings of a grand piano?" she asked, sensing his presence. The music continued, but she lessened the volume slightly.

"I'd be lying if I said I did." The way she was playing, some of those strings must be about ready to break. He sat down beside her on the piano stool. "Do you ever get frustrated with a piece? Or just hate it right from the start?"

Her fingers stopped flying across the keys and came to rest in her lap. "Oh yes. There are more pieces I love than I detest – I always come back to Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin in the end. But there have been times when I've spent weeks concentrating on a piece and all the time I know that once the performance is over, I'll never play it again. Sometimes you open the music and your heart sinks. But you just have to get on with it."

"You get cases like that too. Ones you just want to shut in a box and tie the lid down so tightly that it can never escape. And those are always the cases that take the longest to solve – that seem to mutate into something else."

Nico leaned against him. "And this is one of those cases? Someone opened Pandora's box and all these secrets and lies flew up into the air?"

"You've got it." Callen kissed her on the forehead. "And it's getting worse. This one is seriously bad, Nico. It scares me."

Almost of their own volition, her hands moved back on the keys and started playing softly, yet with the utmost clarity and precision. "Mozart's Piano Sonata number 12 in F major– the adagio. Now, this is an old friend. Can you hear the poignancy that underlies the sweetness? The pain and the pathos that comes through the beauty of the music?"

It was easier to talk when she played, especially a piece like this. "Sometimes I drink to escape," he confessed, still looking at her the way her fingers found the notes with unerring accuracy.

"I do the same with my music." Nico stopped playing. "Maybe we should find something we could do in common?"

Callen raised one eyebrow enquiringly. "I guess I could think of something we already like doing together."

"You've got a one-track mind."

"Agreed."

"Don't bottle things up, okay? Talk to me – or if it's confidential and you can't talk to me, then talk to Sam or someone else."

"Even Kensi?" He was half teasing, but part of him wondered exactly how Nico felt about the whole Deeks/Kensi/Callen triangle. Not that there was a triangle, of course, more like a series of almost-interconnecting relationships. God, sometimes life was just so damned complicated.

"Even only if there's absolutely no-one else."

"So you're not jealous of her then? Or threatened by her?"

Nico looked at him in astonishment. "Why would I be jealous of Kensi?"

_Okay, so I judged that one wrong_. "Because she's with Deeks?" he tried, backpedalling frantically.

"You think I don't want my best friend in the whole world to be happy? And she does make him happy – most of the time."

_If you want to catch me out, you're going to have to try better than that, Callen. A little more subtlety might just pay dividends. Or maybe you could just come straight out with it and ask me if I've got a thing for Mikey. And then I could ask you how you feel about Kensi. But until you do, I'm not saying anything. You want to know – then ask me. And maybe I'll tell you._

It was clearly time to change the subject, Callen thought. "And to show you how happy you make me, how about we do a duet?"

"You never let on that you can play."

"I'm a man of many talents. Chopsticks okay with you?"

"You really know how to show a girl a good time. I suppose you want to do the treble part?"

"Of course."

Callen decided that the next time they went out drinking, he'd be on the sodas. Or maybe just limit himself to one pint. But he'd make sure Nico was enjoying herself, and then maybe later on they'd play some more of the "fantasy lover" game, because he had this feeling there was something she wasn't telling him.

* * *

><p>Hetty listened to the latest developments with a worried look on her face. "This is gathering pace. Have there been any reports of Ms Barrett's whereabouts?"<p>

"Nothing at all. She's doing a great job of keeping herself out of sight. She could still be here, or she could already be back in California, hoping that we've taken the bait about Max Gentry." Callen looked at Deeks, who was sitting with a stony expression on his face. "Are you ready to go back undercover as Gentry again?"

"I'm ready." For once he had no jokes to make. He'd hoped that Max Gentry had made his final appearance some months ago, but it seemed he was wrong.

"Bu you're not ready to undertake a long-haul flight yet," Hetty interjected. "And neither are you, Mr Callen." She shut off their protests with an emphatic gesture. "Mr Hannah and I will return tomorrow. Once you have been medically cleared, you can follow on with Ms Blye."

"I can get my stitches out in California, you know. They do have doctors there."

"You should know. It seems like you've got a season ticket to the emergency room. You just don't want to miss the fireworks for the Fourth of July, do you Deeks? I'll set off a rocket just for you, shall I?" Sam felt the same excitement that he used to feel on Christmas Eve when he was a little boy. He was going home – home to Denise. At last.


	14. Chapter 14

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter 14**

Hetty listened to the latest developments with a worried look on her face. The news that not only Adam Stoddart but also EJ Barrett were also Operation Frankenstein agents was especially troubling, given that it directly contradicted all the official documents relating to the experiment. However, when it came right down to the line, she trusted her agents more that she did the information that had been passed to her from the CIA, via God only knew how many officials, each one censoring just a little more information. The realisation that she'd been played for a fool rankled. "This is gathering pace. Have there been any reports of Ms Barrett's whereabouts?"

"Nothing at all. She's doing a great job of keeping herself out of sight. She could still be here, or she could already be back in California, hoping that we've taken the bait about Max Gentry." Callen looked at Deeks, who was sitting with a stony expression on his face. "Are you ready to go back undercover as Gentry again?"

"I'm ready." For once he had no jokes to make. He'd hoped that Max Gentry had made his final appearance some months ago, but it seemed he was wrong.

"Bu you're not ready to undertake a long-haul flight yet," Hetty interjected. "And neither are you, Mr Callen." She shut off their protests with an emphatic gesture. "Mr Hannah and I will return tomorrow. Once you have been medically cleared, you can follow on with Ms Blye."

"There's no reason I have to stay here. I can get my stitches taken out in California, you know. They do have doctors there."

"You should know. It seems like you've got a season ticket to the emergency room. You just don't want to miss the fireworks for the Fourth of July, do you Deeks? I'll set off a rocket just for you, shall I?" Sam felt the same excitement that he used to feel on Christmas Eve when he was a little boy. He was going home – home to Denise. At last.

"You and Mr Callen will both stay here until I personally see medical confirmation that you are passed as fit to undertake the journey home without suffering any ill effects. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Deeks said automatically. It was like being back at school again, he thought.

Hetty regarded him gravely, not entirely sure if he was being sincere or sarcastic. After several seconds of careful consideration, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and continued. "Our next challenge is how to apprehend the elusive Ms Barrett. I would favour tempting her across "the pond", as our British cousins refer to it. After all, it would be rather embarrassing if she was to indulge her undoubted skills of mutilation and murder again over here. We were very lucky the authorities handed over the case to us with minimal resistance or investigation. But another such occurrence could lead to an international incident. Unless, of course, she discovers we are all going back to the US."

Callen had long experience with the way Hetty's mind worked. Clearly, she already had a plan, no doubt worked out to the last detail. Still, given that she had sat pretty much on the side-lines so far, it was only fair to let her have her moment in the sun. Not that he would ever dare say that to her. In fact, just thinking about it was dangerous enough. "And how do we achieve that?" he asked innocently.

"By representing NCIS at the Consulate's annual party tomorrow, of course," she replied matter of factly. "I already have an invitation from the Consul, so it will be no bother to get your names added onto the guest list." Hetty looked inordinately pleased with herself.

"What a great idea," Callen said flatly. An afternoon mingling with sort of people who got invited to Consular parties was not his idea of how to celebrate Independence Day. Given the choice, Callen would have voted for heaving a crate of beer down to the beach and roasting hot dogs on a bonfire.

Sam didn't envy them this gig at all. It sounded like it was going to be about as much fun as watching paint dry. "Looks like you're going to have buy yourself another suit, Deeks."

"You don't wear suits to an informal afternoon party. Especially one for the Fourth of July." Deeks glanced across at Hetty for confirmation. "The dress code's going to be smart casual – am I right?"

"Exactly."

_And my agents wonder why I personally select their outfits? God knows what they would turn up in if I didn't keep my eye on them._

"What does that mean?" Sam wasn't going to give Deeks the satisfaction of asking how he knew suits were not required.

Deeks rolled his eyes. "No suits, like I said. Well, no business suits at any rate. Callen could probably get away with a linen suit, if he really wanted."

"If I really wanted what? To look like Tom Wolfe?"

"How come someone who looks like he gets his clothing inspiration from Neil Young knows so much about dress codes?"

"I'm addicted to Miss Manners. She sounds like a really hot babe."

Kensi had been mulling things over. "We will need to buy some new clothes all the same. Even if I don't get to wear a hat…"

"This isn't the Queen's Garden Party," Hetty cautioned. "And before you ask, I don't have any official credit cards with me."

Everyone turned in unison to look at Deeks.

"I'm going to ask for interest," he warned. "I know what the Government's like when it comes to paying its bills. And I want a tax write-off too."

Sam snorted in derision. "Good luck with that."

_Although, knowing Deeks, he'll have a whole team of accountants on to it. Maybe I could get them to help me with my tax returns too? Even if it does mean crawling to him – I'm prepared to do that. If it means I get some help._

"And don't forget the receipts." Hetty folded her hands in her lap.

"I'll need new shoes, as well as an outfit. And a purse. I should really get my hair done too." Kensi was on a roll.

_With any luck, Marty'll buy me some new lingerie. What am I saying? Of course he will – as long as he gets to choose it._

"I'll just carry the bags, shall I? Oh – and watch the charges to my card mount up."

"Exactly. You've got to learn your place. Think of it as liaising, if that helps any." Callen was still concerned about the arrangements. "So – we go to this party, dressed in the finest clothes we can persuade Deeks to buy us, we mingle, we sing the praises of NCIS, we even drop all sorts of unsubtle hints about the team – and then what? It's not like EJ's going to be there."

"If my hunch is correct and Ms Barrett is not acting alone, then someone at the party will on the information. She'll be allowed to leave the UK and to enter the US without hindrance."

Callen was impressed at just how many favours Hetty could manage to pull in at such short notice. "It's just a pity we didn't use the Overlock tracker on her. I don't like the idea that she's running around, as free as a bird."

"Sometimes we just have to make do with what we've got." She rose to her feet. "I'll see you at the end of the week. And, Mr Deeks? Don't forget to keep those receipts. I'd hate to see you out of pocket."


	15. Chapter 15

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter 15**

_Warning: contains adult material and is rated "M"._

* * *

><p>Deeks favoured her with a radiant smile. "Don't worry – everything will be itemised. And I'll be adding in my new suit, the one they had to cut off me in the ambulance, remember? And the replacement clothes Kensi had to buy for me and Callen. NCIS will get a full accounting, I promise."<p>

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you." Hetty wondered if she still had the receipt for the scarf they'd used to bind EJ's hands with. She'd been particularly fond of it.

"And you'll let us know about the pellet?"

"We'll keep you fully updated, Mr Callen. You have my word on that." Hetty had her own suspicions about the purpose of that pellet, but she wanted a full official analysis done by the NCIS labs before she was about to commit herself. And if it contained what she suspected it did, then there would be blood for breakfast.

"Sarah MacLeod – our MI5 contact – gave me her card." Kensi fished around in her purse and finally located it. "I was thinking it might be a good idea to call her, maybe ask for some advice on where we could go shopping?"

"Since when have you needed any help shopping? I thought women had this built-in radar that automatically picked up the most expensive shops in any given area?" It certainly looked that way from the credit card bills he received.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer, Marty. I just thought it might be useful to let as many people know of our plans. Including our British friends."

"I agree. One never knows exactly whom one is dealing with, or where their allegiances might lie." She had to accept that unpalatable fact as a matter of course when it came to negotiating with foreign countries; she even had to acknowledge that other US agencies might have their own agendas which ran counter to those of NCIS, but Hetty could never tolerate the idea that there might be people within NCIS who were determinedly promoting their own brand of mayhem. The fact that such subversion might even be officially sanctioned was something she found personally abhorrent. Still, this time tomorrow she would be back in LA, and then she could start to ferret out the rats nest. And if that meant she had descend to their own level or play them at their own game, then Hetty was more that prepared to do that. That was why she wasn't taking any risks with her two injured agents: she needed them back to full health as quickly as possible.

"By the way, Marty – I'm going to need your help with the shopping."

"Why? I thought you had it all sorted – you and my credit card, that is. Why do you need me?"

Kensi smiled sweetly. "I'll need someone to carry the bags, won't I? And seeing how you've ditched the crutches, you've not got any excuse not to, have you?"

"My leg's really sore," he protested. "I probably should be on the crutches, you know." He tried to look tired and pathetic, but Kensi wasn't buying it, especially when she thought back to how little it had hampered his performance on the roof.

"Why not let me be the judge of that?" Hetty beckoned to him. "Let me have a look and see how the wound is healing."

Marty backed away rapidly. "I'll manage. You know me, Hetty."

"Indeed I do." She allowed herself the luxury of a smile.

* * *

><p>"Sarah couldn't have been more helpful if she'd tried," Kensi said. "And she was <em>so<em> sorry to hear Sam was already on his way back home. I think she rather fancied him."

Hetty had managed to weave her own particular brand of magic and procured two seats on that evening's flight to LA from Heathrow. She and Sam had made the connecting flight from Edinburgh by the skin of their teeth and were now on the first leg of the long journey back home. Unfortunately, they had to fly coach.

"Good thing Denise wasn't here. She'd eat anyone that so much as looked at Sam the wrong way."

"You got very coy when Hetty wanted to look at your leg. What was the big deal?" Realisation suddenly struck. "You're going commando again, aren't you? No wonder you jumped back like you'd just had an electric shock." She started to laugh as she remembered the expression on his face.

"It's hot," Marty mumbled. "And tell me that you'd want your boss peering at you?"

"She's also your aunt," Kensi reminded him. "She's probably seen it all before."

"She's my great-aunt and that was a very long time ago indeed." He was almost certain he'd hidden those incriminating photos, but judging by the look on Kensi's face, all of a sudden Marty wasn't quite so sure. Why the hell did parents think it was either cute or acceptable to photograph their naked offspring with assorted family members? It was clearly time to change the subject – not to mention remembering to wear underpants anytime he was in the same country as Hetty. Maybe even when they were on the same continent. "That's a private garden over there." He gestured out of the window and across the street.

"How fascinating. I've seen it every time we leave the house, you know. And yes, it's very pretty. Your point is?" Kensi looked down at the lush, verdant space, neatly enclosed by black railings.

"My point is – it's private. And we've got a key."

Kensi continued to look blankly at him.

"So we can get in. Unlike most other people. And it'll be dark in about an hour or so?" Marty prompted. "Nice velvety, soft grass, cool evening air?" His hand gently moved across her breast, cupping it and then his thumb moved upwards to gaze across her nipple and Kensi felt an instant reaction, a familiar throb between her legs.

"Not to mention people passing by?" She leant into him, and discovered he was as aroused as she was.

"Live dangerously." He was nibbling at her neck now. "So come on – you know how much fun it is, doing it outside in the dark."

Kensi could feel herself blushing. "No, I don't."

"You've never made love outside at night?" Marty felt a sense of outrage on her behalf. "You haven't lived. Just imagine – you and me, the moon and the stars – what could be more romantic?"

"Somewhere that's not in the middle of town?" Despite her initial reservations, Kensi was very tempted. "And besides, we did it on the roof this morning."

"That's not the same and you know it. And anyway, the whole danger element just adds to the excitement. Come on, Kensi – it'll be fun. I promise."

"I'll think about it. I'm not promising anything, but I will definitely think about it."

_I must be mad. What if we get caught? What on earth would my mother say? Oh God, why am I thinking about making love outside AND my mom in the same breath?_

"Live dangerously." Marty's mouth was close to her ear and his breath felt warm and inviting. Kensi could feel her resolve weakening.

"Only if you promise to come shopping with me tomorrow – and not to complain."

"Only if I get to choose the lingerie. I've always fancied seeing you in a corset, by the way. Nothing slutty, something tasteful."

"Slutty can be good." The things he could do with his tongue were little short of amazing.

_To hell with it. You only live once._

"That's a "yes" then is it? To our _rendezvous en plein air_?" He cocked one eyebrow enquiringly.

"It's a definite maybe – and that's as good as you're going to get." She melted into his arms, unable to resist the temptation any longer.

"That's what you say now – but just you wait."

"Okay – but on one condition." She slipped her hand inside his waistband and discovered that he really wasn't wearing any underwear. Her fingers slowly traced the line of his pelvis

"What's that?" Marty was finding it very difficult to concentrate.

"You get a haircut tomorrow and tidy up all those singed ends." Kensi let her hand slide down a little further, and then curve around so she was holding his testicles. Her fingers extended, so that she caressed him ever so gently.

"You play dirty."

"I play to win." With her other hand, Kensi undid his flies and encircled his penis, holding him firmly as she gazed into his eyes, seeing how they were already slightly glazed. Running her thumb tenderly around the head and then back down the shaft, she watched as he swallowed convulsively and closed his eyes as the sensations flooded through his body.

"You win," he gasped, as Kensi continued her magic.

"Thank you." She smiled wickedly at him and then dropped to her knees, took a hold of him and bent her head down, as Marty buried his hands in the hair and felt his body light up from within as she took him in her mouth: sucking and teasing and rolling her tongue around the tip, and then swallowing deeply to take his whole length. His legs felt like buckling underneath him and now Kensi had moved her hands around to his buttocks, and she was kneading them in time with the movements of her mouth and he couldn't help it, he was thrusting and it felt like heaven.

"Anyone could see us!" he managed to gasp, conscious that he was standing right in the window of the drawing room, but Kensi just shrugged her shoulders and continued. Marty felt himself spiralling out of control and the whole world contracted into this room, Kensi and the incredible things she was doing with her mouth.

* * *

><p><em>Randy plot bunny loves the idea of a moonlight rendezvous in Queen Street Gardens with a similarly over-sexed female bunny. I do have a key - or rather, I can get a key - but sadly, I've yet to meet the luscious Marty Deeks there. A girl can hope though, can't she?<em>

_And if anyone is counting, that **does** make three times Kensi and Marty have been "active" in one day. So far. Aren't you jealous? I know I am._


	16. Chapter 16

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter 16**

"Do I really have to come with you tomorrow?" He could hear the slight whinging tone in his voice, which was rather pathetic, but still – shopping? Surely it was his duty as a red-blooded American male to try to get out of this by any means possible?

"We've already had this discussion." She was implacable.

"I know, but… "

"No buts. You agreed." She looked up at the ceiling. "It's awfully quiet up there."

"Quiet is good, where Deeks is concerned. Usually." Callen tried his most appealing smile. "I'm no good at shopping."

"I know. That's why you need to get some practice in. And some guidance. I'm going to take you in hand. It's high time someone did, after all."

"What do you mean "you know"? What's wrong with the way I dress?"

"Nothing – if you like four pairs of jeans – all exactly the same and a variety of long-sleeved t-shirts in dark navy. It's like you wear some sort of uniform. At least Sam occasionally throws in the odd red shirt for a bit of variety."

"You never said anything before." _It's handy – I don't have to think about what to wear – I just put on whatever's clean. And I go shopping once a year, chose what I like and buy about half a dozen of each. The whole thing's done in less than half an hour. Simple. Efficient. But maybe she's right. Maybe I've got into a rut and need to break out – be a bit more daring, more spontaneous._

"You never asked."

Callen decided to take a different tack. "You could just pick me up something to wear. I'm pretty easy."

"That's what Mikey said. According to him, you let Hetty tell you what to wear. Come on, Callen – Hetty? The woman who styles herself on Dr Evil – or should that be Mini-Me?"

It was hard not to choke with laughter at that, but somehow Callen managed it, albeit with somewhat of a struggle. The thought of "_Austin Powers – the World According to Hetty_" was almost too good for words. "You're right. They are being very quiet. Maybe we should go check on them?" Before he could do anything, there was the sound of voices in the hall.

"We're just going out for a bit." Kensi sounded rather breathless, as if she was trying hard not to laugh.

Nico raised her eyebrows. "But it's dark out. And every where's shut by now," she called out.

In the hall, Kensi started to giggle uncontrollably, all the while dangling the keys temptingly in front of her face.

Marty made a stern face at her, and put one finger to his lips. "It sure is. Don't wait up for us, Mom and Dad – we've got our keys," he yelled and then let the front door bang shut behind him.

"Kids today. How about you and I go out for a bit too?" Callen suggested. _Okay, Nico thinks I'm in a rut. I think it's about time she got to see the real Callen._

"You've got something planned, haven't you?" Nico was beginning to recognise the signs.

"Kind of. But it's a surprise." Callen pulled a scarf from his pocket. "Come here." His voice had suddenly lost its playful edge and his face looked harder, more set. It was as if a completely different man had taken his place – someone much more ruthless, who was accustomed to being obeyed, without question.

Nico felt a thrill of excitement and meekly let him tie the scarf over her eyes, completely shutting out her vision.

"Take my hand," Callen ordered, and lead her out of the kitchen. "Don't say a word."

Nico heard the sounds of her heels tapping across the hallway, the echo bouncing off the walls and then there was a different sound – that of the key turning in the door, and the familiar creak as the door opened.

"Be careful – there's six steps here."

She clung onto Callen's arm tightly, enjoying the feel of his muscles underneath her fingers and let him lead her out into the night.

"Stop here."

She obeyed without question.

"Can I trust you to do exactly what I say?"

Nico nodded emphatically and Callen removed the blindfold, then cupped both his hands in front of himself. "Give me your foot." He gestured with his head. "We're going to do a little midnight breaking and entering."

"Can you break into a garden?" she asked curiously.

"You promised you'd do what I said," Callen hissed. "Give me a break here, would you?"

Nico carefully removed her shoes, and placed them neatly at the foot of the high railings. She might be about to risk her good reputation, but she certainly wasn't about to endanger her favourite Jimmy Choos. "When did you think of this?" she whispered, as she placed her foot in his outstretched hands and let him raise her up so that she could safely navigate her way across the spikes on top of the railings and then drop down on the other side

"I heard Deeks say something about the gardens being private the other day. Only I couldn't find the key. Anyway, I thought this would be more fun."

Nico watched as he swung himself easily up and over the railings with effortless grace. "I'm officially impressed. Nice moves, Callen."

He grinned, his teeth a sudden flash of white in the darkness of the gardens. "Time to put on the scarf again."

This time, she clung even more tightly to him than before, as they moved slowly through the undergrowth, hearing all sorts of noises now that she was deprived of sight. Holding onto him, letting him lead her along paths totally unknown and unseen was incredibly erotic, but there was more to it than that, Nico realised. She trusted Callen – more than she'd ever trusted anyone before.

"Fuck me." Callen stopped so abruptly that Nico walked straight into his back, and smacked her nose off the back of his head.

"Bloody hell!" Her voice rang out with crystal clearness. "What did you do that for?"

"Shut up."

Nico brought her hands up to her nose, and felt it gingerly. "I think it's broken." Her eyes were streaming with tears, and she could feel the blood gushing down her face. It was only with a huge effort that she didn't start sobbing.

"Quiet. We've got to get out of here." Callen's voice was low and urgent, but Nico could sense something else in his tone. He pulled the blindfold down around her neck and grabbed her hand. "Come on. And don't look back, whatever you do." The next thing Nico knew, they were hurtling across the grass and Callen was practically throwing her over the railings.

"I'm really sorry." Callen knelt before the kitchen chair. "If its' any consolation, I don't think it's broke. But keep the ice on it to help with the swelling."

"What the hell have you done to her?" Deeks said accusingly, coming in at a fast hobble.

"I wasn't looking where I was going," Nico said, raising pathetically bloodshot eyes and trying to smile.

Callen glared at him. "But I saw rather more than I expected. Given that it was a full moon."

Kensi placed Nico's shoes on the table, and laid the keys down next to them, without saying a single word. But then, the look on her face spoke volumes. Struggling to keep a straight face, Deeks ran a cloth under the cold tap and started to dab at the blood on Nico's chin.

"Better be more careful next time, Callen. You don't want to get a reputation as a peeping tom, do you?"

"We are never talking about this. Ever." Kensi's voice had an edge of steel. "You saw nothing - do you understand?"

"But I didn't see anything." Nico said plaintively. "I was blindfolded."

"I'm saying nothing about that." Deeks winked at Callen, who was suddenly very interested in looking at his feet.

"Nobody saw anything and nobody is going to say anything. And that's the way it's going to stay." Kensi stalked out of the room, her head held very high.

"The first rule of Queen Street Gardens is that we don't talk about Queen Street Gardens." Deeks was almost bent double with laughter and even Callen started to whoop with glee. Only Nico sat there, bemused and clutching a large packet of frozen peas to her throbbing noses wondering if they'd both gone completely mad.


	17. Chapter 17

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Seventeen**

_in which things take a decided turn for the worse_

* * *

><p>For days the mere mention of the words "Queen Street Gardens" or even a casual reference to a full moon was enough to send Deeks and Callen into near hysterics and to make Kensi assume a certain boot-faced expression as she steadfastly refused to see the funny side of things.<p>

Deeks tried to cajole her. "It was my ass Callen saw. You were next to invisible."

"That's not the point." It was clearly no use: Kensi had made up her mind and nothing was going to change it. AS far as the whole affair was concerned, Kensi had a total sense of humour by-pass.

"I didn't see anything, honestly I didn't." Callen attempted to reassure her.

"But you thought plenty, didn't you?"

Callen tried very hard to school his face into impassivity, but it was no use. All these years of going undercover, of assuming a different identity, heck even all the games of poker he'd played and all the outrageous bluffs he'd called were to no avail as he kept remembering how his plans had been so cruelly dashed. Because the look on Deeks' face when he'd turned around to see what the disturbance was had been priceless. It was only beaten by the sheer horror and total disbelief on Kensi's, as she'd reared upwards. It was certainly a night he would ever forget, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. And it would bring a smile to his face each time he remembered it.

After that, the party at the Consulate was almost an anti-climax, even if the shopping trip had been memorable, not least for the way in which Kensi had flatly refused to let either man into the lingerie shop, far less into the dressing room to give their opinion.

"Your credit card will do just nicely," she'd informed Deeks, who stood there , slack-jawed as he saw his dreams disappearing into dust."

"I wanted to get some ideas for your Christmas present," he offered hopefully.

"Christmas is months away."

"Wedding lingerie?"

"It's traditional that the bride goes shopping with her mother."

That neatly put an end to any further suggestions from him. If Allison Blye had her way, Deeks thought that Kensi would be sidling up the aisle in sackcloth and ashes. He wouldn't have put it past her to try to lock Kensi into a chastity belt, if she'd thought it would do any good. In the end, after another few failed attempts at getting Kensi to change her mind, he and Callen found another amazing pub just around the corner from the shop and drowned their sorrows.

"I was going to buy her a corset," Deeks confided after the second pint.

"She'd never go for that."

"Are we talking about the person here? Kensi? You know – stands about so high, great body, pretty much up for anything? She thought it was a great idea."

Callen shook his head in disbelief. "She was having you on."

_You lucky bastard.I wonder if I can persuade Nico to go for a corset too? A low-cut one, with suspenders, maybe some black lace._

"She wasn't. You want a bet? Fifty says she comes out of that shop with a corset."

_It's going to be the easiest money I've ever made._

"And how will I know? She's not exactly going to model it for me, is she?"

_I should be so lucky._

"I could take a photo on my cell phone?"

_It would make a really cool screen saver, only Kensi would kill me if she ever found out._

"You could end up dead."

"Probably. But at least I'd die happy. Would you accept the receipt as evidence?"

"Is that the best you can offer?"

A wolfish grin slipped across Deeks face. "Wait and see."

* * *

><p>Leon Vance was waiting in LAX, looking extremely uncomfortable. Never one to even try to blend in with a crowd, his esoteric combination of sharp suit and Marine buzz-cut caused more than one passenger to nudge their travelling companion in the ribs. "Your flight was delayed," he announced in aggrieved tones. "It's after midnight." The clear implication was that he had much better things to be doing with his time and that they had personally managed to inconvenience him.<p>

"Even I cannot persuade the Almighty to conjure up a severe weather pattern, Leon." Her small stature meant that Hetty had been able to curl up in an airline seat, even in the close confines of coach, so she'd managed a couple of hours sleep. Sam, on the other hand, felt bone-weary and looked ready to drop. "Mr Hannah – I don't want to see you until 3pm. Not a moment before. Go home and try to get some sleep."

"We need a proper debriefing session." It was clear that the Director had still not forgiven Sam for his broken nose.

Hetty smiled tolerantly. "And you'll get one, Leon – from me. Good night, Mr Hannah. And thank you for all your hard work." She handed Leon her suitcase. "Let's get going then. Time is marching on, after all." She strode briskly towards the exit, leaving him to struggle with her large and extremely heavy suitcase. A car was idling outside, in the lane clearly marked for use only when dropping passengers off.

_What it is not to be troubled by the rules made for the little people in life_, Hetty thought disdainfully. The driver didn't even bother to turn around when she slid into the back, nor did he offer to assist Leon with the suitcase.

"You had an eventful time in England." He was panting slightly from the exertion.

"I was in Scotland," Hetty reminded him. "It's a completely different country. I supposed you could describe it as eventful. Someone tried to kill me."

"It would take more than a house fire to kill you." He almost sounded aggrieved.

"I'll take that as a compliment. It nearly claimed the lives of my team as well. Not to mention two civilians."

"One of whom was Deeks' father. A man the US authorities believed to be dead until recently."

Hetty leaned back against the leather seats. "How strange. I don't believe I mentioned that fact in my briefing paper to you, did I?. I only referred to the fact that two British citizens were involved. And no names were mentioned in any of the newspapers. But clearly you have other sources of information."

"I'd hardly be a fit choice to head of a federal agency if I didn't."

Having established an advantage, Hetty was determined to pursue it. "And would one of those sources be EJ Barrett, by any chance? One of the remaining Operation Frankenstein operatives?"

"I thought you would figure it out eventually." It was difficult to tell, but for a moment it looked as if Leon was almost relieved.

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

"It's probably the best compliment I'm ever going to give you. I don't do sugar-coated, Hetty. I'm a pragmatist. I say things like I see them."

"So do I. And there are some questions I need you to answer. Pragmatically, if you prefer, but honestly. How many more people would have had to die before you eventually did something? If my team hadn't found out what was going on – what would you have done?"

He sat up straighter at that and glared at her, the look that had cowered so many people. Hetty sat impassively, completely unmoved, as was only to be expected from someone who had watched the tanks roll into Tiananmen Square. "I would have done what was expected of me." Leon almost sounded proud.

"Expected by whom? Your country? The people you were put in authority over? Your family? Or your masters?"

"You leave my family out of this, Hetty," he warned.

She could sense the cracks starting to appear in his carefully crafted façade, knew that she had found his weak spot. Everyone had one, after all. "What will your children say when they discover their father was a coward who was too scared to stand up and do the right thing? That he was willing to sacrifice an entire team of agents, for personal gain? How can you ever look your children in the eye again, Leon?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I do. You knew EJ was in Scotland. You knew exactly where she was, didn't you? Because all of the operatives had subcutaneous tracking devices implanted in their bodies. The Scottish pathologist found one when he did the post-mortem on PFC Stoddart. All I need is for the lab to confirm the details and the last nail is hammered into your coffin. Your children are going to be so ashamed of their father."

"You stupid bitch." Leon's hand came out of nowhere and slapped her hard, with such force that Hetty's head jerked back and hit the headrest, before snapping forward again, while her glasses were dislodged from her face. "Give it to me."

The whole side of her face was stinging painfully, but there was a look of pure joy in Hetty's eyes. "I don't have it. By now, it should be in the lab, being tested. Under the watchful eye of Mr Hannah. I know who I can trust, Leon. Believe me, it a small list and you were never on it."

Leon hit her again, this time with his fist, not an open palm. Perhaps as little as five years earlier, Hetty could have put up a spirited defence, but she was getting older, Leon had a height and weight advantage, plus she'd just come off a long flight. Worst of all, she was effectively forced into the corner of the seat and prevented from making any counter moves. By the time his hands wrapped themselves around her neck, Hetty had already stopped struggling.

* * *

><p><em>Slushy plot bunny is shocked beyond belief. He says that while I got away with EJ thumping Hetty, having her strangled to death is just not on. But evil plot bunny is sitting up on his haunches and tells me it is high time there was a bit more "real" action in this story.<em>


	18. Chapter 18

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Eighteen**

It was bad luck that when Leon launched his attack the car was in the hinterlands of light industrial areas that surrounded the airport, an area bereft of human occupancy in the small hours of the morning. The driver must have taken a detour, Hetty thought vaguely, and she had been too preoccupied to notice. She realised that they were effectively in the middle of nowhere, with no other cars on the road, no people on the streets to see what was going on. It was an ignominious place in which to die

Within seconds, the force of his grip was shutting off her throat, making it impossible to drag air into her lungs and her struggles against his assault became progressively weaker. Her vision started to cloud over and Hetty was vaguely aware of coarse rasping noises that sounded more like an animal in extreme pain. It was shocking to realise that the sounds came from her; that this was what death sounded like. Scrabbling ineffectually at Leon's fingers, she tried at least to mark him, to get some of his DNA under her fingertips, to leave a clue as to her killer. She was determined to be professional, right up to the end. When she had thought of her death, and she had done so many times, it had been to think of it like an old lover, who would whistle and she would come running, with a smile on her face and open arms; or perhaps like a Bible truth that had been inevitable since the funeral of her youth, so that everything that lay in between had merely been passing time. Ah, the passing time – it had been so sweet, so precious and she'd been lucky, right up to the end. It wasn't all bad, most of her life had been wonderful and she had no regrets. Except that Hetty had never thought her death would be like this, at the hands of a colleague. But now her death was waiting patiently, standing in front of the door to which she was being drawn inexorably, through the blackest shadows to where the lilacs were just waiting to be picked. Whatever lay behind the door, there was nothing much she could do, whether it was angel or devil that awaited her. Hetty realised that it was all irrelevant – her death was just another death. Nothing more.

* * *

><p>"Nate's just sent us his psychological profile of EJ." Callen looked up from the laptop. "And it makes for some very interesting reading. He's had complete access to her personnel file…"<p>

"Courtesy of Eric, no doubt. Isn't it useful to have a tame computer geek who's never met a system he can't hack into? He's a bit like Gizmo – cute, cuddly and harmless until you give him a keyboard." Deeks sat down beside him and peered over his shoulder.

"Gizmo?" Sometimes it was almost impossible to keep up with Deeks' chain of thought. If indeed there was one; quite often he just appeared to go off on weird tangents that defied normal logic. Callen just hoped that dropping him on his head hadn't made things worse.

"You're not telling me you've never seen Gremlins? Oh man, that is the coolest film. Kensi – we've got to get Callen over for a movie night when we're back home. It was one of my favourite films when I was a kid. We just about wore out the video tape."

"Weren't you a bit young?" Kensi asked. Her mother had been very strict at vetting what she was allowed to watch and Kensi had been in high school before she'd seen the movie. "I mean, there's the whole bit about Santa Claus and the chimney."

Deeks shrugged. "I had an elder brother, remember? I got one of stuffed animals – the all-singing, all-dancing version. Man, I loved it. Then one day, Chris put it in the microwave to see if he could explode it – like they did in the film. But it just fried the electrics." It was easy enough to talk about now, but at the time, he could remember being freaked out and screaming fit to burst as Gizmo's eyes had rolled around in a menacing fashion and he'd emitted a series of shrill squeaks. _I thought he'd killed Gizmo – but I was only about five at the time. And I wasn't exactly the sharpest pencil in the box._

"That was mean! But it could have been worse – he could have put it in the food processor, I suppose."

"He did. Told me that we had to put Gizmo out of his misery. Mom went ape-shit when she saw the mess." _Not to mention the fact that by the time she came in I was so traumatised I'd peed my pants._

"Can we please stop talking about some kids film and get back to our work? EJ Barratt – NCIS's very own killer within the ranks?"

"Give us the edited highlights, then." Deeks had encountered a few of Nate's reports before and had not exactly found them riveting reading. Brevity was not one of Nate's strong points.

"Lifestyle marked by numerous examples of predatory behaviour, with sexual history of multiple partners, and categorised by short-term relationships, indicating poor judgement and impulse control, lack of empathy and general promiscuity."

"Translation: EJ went for anything in pants, but got bored quickly. When he says "multiple" do you reckon Nate means she went through a whole load of guys, or that she liked more than one at a time?"

Callen ignored his interruption and continued reading aloud. "Subject shows an inability to relate to people and does not appear to be concerned with the impact of her actions on others."

"EJ was only in it for what she could get. Does that tie in with your experience of her, Callen?"

"Leave me out of it. It was a long time ago." _And the thought that I was involved with a psychopath and didn't even notice is really worrying. It doesn't exactly say a lot for my judgement. But then, she was a tiger in the sack – I really didn't think about much else, other than the sex. I guess I used her as much as she used me. At least DiNozzo was caught out by her too – that doesn't make me feel quite so bad._

"Superficially charming, manipulative, deceptive. Basically, Nate says that EJ consistently displays behaviour patterns commonly associated with people with psychopathic tendencies. And then he goes on to say that her lack of remorse when her team member died, contrasted with her extreme response when she was abducted by Cobb, reinforce his conclusions."

"What about Stoddart?" Kensi had not been able to forget the way the Marine had been tortured. "Does Nate think she was capable of torturing him?"

"He says it is probable that EJ would be able to justify her actions to herself and it's likely the only remorse she'll feel is if she's actually punished for his death."

"In short – we were right – she's a psycho. She kills him and it's his fault. Talk about Looney Tunes. And now she's after Max Gentry. Can I tell you how good that makes me feel?"

Kensi looked at him ruefully. "It doesn't exactly fill me with joy either, Marty. Given that EJ seems to be a poster child for psychopathic symptoms, how come it was never picked up in her evaluations?"

"Nate asks the same question. I'm going to quote him directly "I would posit that the subject was able to exhibit a superficial degree of normalcy under test conditions. However, a reasonably competent professional analysis should have revealed inconsistencies that would have demanded detailed examination. Ms Barrett's superiors also failed to take the appropriate steps when her actions called her judgement into serious question. In my opinion, the wholesale lack of intervention at an early stage has led to these entirely foreseeable events." Which is pretty damning. Nate's not pulled any punches."

"How the hell did she get into Frankenstein?" Deeks asked. "I thought they had this whole battery of tests they put people through."

"Maybe they wanted psychopaths? Wind them up and let them go? And when they're discovered, they can plead diminished responsibility?"

"So young and yet so cynical. But you're probably right. Look at the three we know about: Cobb, Stoddart and EJ – each one of them with deep-seated emotional problems, to say the least. Or completely crackers, to more blunt about it. I wouldn't let any of them deflea Bobby, far less deliberately train them up to lose whatever normal human responses they still had left."

"We've got to find her." Callen banged down the lid of the laptop. "We've got find her and put a stop to this, once and for all. By whatever means possible."

"Don't make yourself judge, jury and executioner – that's stooping to their level."

"Quit speaking like a lawyer and wise up. We do whatever it takes. What other way is there, Deeks?"

* * *

><p><em>Hetty's musings on her death are inspired by the Jacques Brel song: My Death.<em>


	19. Chapter 19

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Nineteen**

"Quit speaking like a lawyer and wise up. We do whatever it takes. What other way is there, Deeks?"

"The right way. We take EJ alive and we get every last drop of information out of her. We get names and we get evidence. We do it by the book - good old fashioned police work that'll stand up in a court of law. Because I want those bastards brought to court and tried and convicted so tightly that they'll never see daylight again. That's how I'm going to do it."

"I'll get the same results, only a lot quicker. So we cut a few corners? So what. WE need to act quickly. We don't have time for luxuries or waiting around."

"Marty's right, Callen. You know he is. We need to know whatever EJ knows. Like how many more graduated from Operation Frankenstein. Until then we're shooting in the dark."

"Don't you listen? I've told I'll get her to talk. I'll you the names – every single one of them. In her handwriting, if that makes you happy."

"And when the court throws your evidence out as inadmissible because it was obtained under duress? What about that? Or when EJ walks free because you thought you were above the law? For Christ's sake, Callen – I want this as badly as you do. But I want a watertight conviction, not one a six year old could drive holes through." His eyes pleaded mutely: don't cock this up.

"You're a fucking pain in the ass, Deeks." It was as close to a confession that he'd been wrong as Callen was ever going to give.

"I know." _For one minute there, I thought I was going to have to whack him upside the head to knock some sense into him. Things are really getting to him. _"We'll be back in LA by the end of the week and then Max Gentry can come out of his wombat hole and hopefully EJ will take the bait."

Kensi looked resolutely at the floor, still unhappy about the idea of Marty assuming the role of Max again, not to mention the fact he would be setting himself up as a target. More than anything she refused to think about what sort of torture EJ might be planning to inflict upon him. What really rankled was the way EJ was able to disappear in plain sight, not only here but in LA. Either she was a hell of a lot better than anyone had ever given her credit for, or else someone was helping her, feeding her information. It was like being asked to pick between the lesser of two evils. Knowing their luck, it was probably both. One thing was certain though – if EJ so much as laid one finger on the newly-shorn head of Marty Deeks or Mikey Brandel or even Max Gentry, then Kensi would have her guts for garters. Of that she was absolutely certain. And she'd make damn sure there wasn't a court in the land that wouldn't agree she had used justifiable force, even if she had to slam her own face through a window to make it look realistic.

Callen looked at his watch. "Hetty and Sam should have landed by now. The earliest we can hope to hear anything is about four hours."

"Time for me to get to that hospital appointment." Deeks rubbed his leg gingerly; the stitches were due to come out today and it wasn't a moment too soon in his opinion.

"You really know how to live dangerously, don't you?" Callen jeered jokingly.

"It was because I was living dangerously that I'm going back to the hospital, remember? Oh on, I forgot, you were standing outside chatting to Hetty and letting EJ get clean away, weren't you? And meantime Sam and I were playing action-hero and I was falling through burning staircases."

"No comment."

"Anyway, once the stitches are out, I'm going to have a long, hot bath. Want to join me?"

"No thanks," Callen said smoothly. "You're not my type."

"Spoilsport. I suppose I'll have to settle for Kensi then."

"We'll see. I'm not sure I'm into cradle-snatching." It was taking her a while to get used to him with short hair, and now he'd shaved into the bargain, there were times when Kensi felt the teacher dating her high school student. Which was kind of a turn-on, in a slightly warped way. She was almost sure she never used to be like this: it must be Marty's bad influence.

"We could play at Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. Bags me be Joe."

"You can't be Joe. Frank's taller than Joe." They both turned and looked at Callen accusingly.

"Okay, so I'll be Nancy. If it makes you happy." God, he really missed Sam. He'd probably have resorted to sticking straws in his hair by the time they got home.

* * *

><p>Leon was careful not to exert too much pressure on Hetty's windpipe: he didn't want this to be over quickly, on the contrary, he wanted her to suffer, to know that she was dying and to know why she was dying. He'd put up with the meddling, interfering old witch for far too long, and he was enjoying finally being able to exert some authority over her. He certainly wasn't going to rush things. No, he wanted to savour the last few minutes Henrietta Lang would ever spend on earth. By now, her face was suffused with dark blood and her eyes were beginning to bulge out from their sockets. Before too much longer, her lips would take on a blue tinge and then the end would be very close. Leon had waited a very long time for this moment.<p>

Just as things were starting to get really interesting for Leon, and Hetty's struggles were becoming increasingly feeble, the car slammed to a halt that flung him backwards, so that he crashed into the front seats. Hetty shrank away from him, whopping for breath now that he had lost his grip on her neck. She looked like a small, frightened old lady, certainly no match for someone like Leon. This had stopped being fun, Leon thought. He'd credited her with being able to put up more of a fight, to be a worthy opponent – but she'd just given up. Reaching forward, he grabbed the lapels of her jacket and dragged her forwards, just as the car door opened and a large fist punched directly into his ear.

"Fuck!" The yell was involuntary, as the blow had sent a cacophony of disturbance ringing through his head, which was already swimming woozily. Leon found his fingers were refusing to close around the annoying bitch's neck and that he was essentially powerless to stop himself being dragged out of the car and dumped unceremoniously on the dusty road.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size next time?" an angry voice demanded, and then aimed a kick that connected four-square with his testicles. His lungs seemed to empty themselves of air spontaneously and the pain flared through him like someone had fired a rocket up his ass. Leon rolled over in agony, and then contracted into a ball. The kick had been aimed perfectly and he felt as if his scrotum had been forcibly relocated to somewhere in the vicinity of his thorax. A pair of feet clad in custom-made Italian shoes strolled into view, as he lay writhing in agony, clutching his damaged groin pathetically and wondering if he'd ever be able to perform again.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to hit girls or anyone smaller that you?" a familiar voice asked in scathing tones.

Hetty crawled slowly across the back seat and peered out myopically at her rescuers. "What the hell took you so long?" she demanded in a raspy voice.

* * *

><p><em>Evil plot bunny is so delighted at this that he has just turned a back somersault in sheer joy. You didn't really think I'd kill Hetty, did you? Even I'm not THAT bad.<em>


	20. Chapter 20

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty**

Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo extended a hand gallantly and helped her out. "Blame the boss." He gestured over to where Gibbs was handcuffing the driver, who'd been knocked unconscious by the impact of the collision. "He said he knew this short-cut. To cut a long story short, it wasn't." At his feet, Leon Vance twitched as another wave of pain convulsed his body and Tony casually extended his foot to prod him in the ribs. "Lie still like a good Director."

"Sorry we cut things so fine, Hetty." Gibbs surveyed her closely and titled her head gently to one side. "Want to take a ride to the hospital?" He was acutely aware that just a few seconds more and Hetty would not be standing here, even if she did look like hell.

"I'll be fine. Nothing a good hot cup of tea with a dollop of honey and a good slug of scotch won't cure."

"Scotch? Now you're talking." DiNozzo's eyes lit up at the thought.

"For medicinal purposes, Anthony. And besides, I'm sure you would never drink on duty, would you?"

"Never. Well, hardly ever. No more than once a week." He ducked just in time to manage to avoid Gibb's head slap. "Only joking, boss. I'll call LAPD, shall I? Get them to arrest these scumbags?"

"Yeah – start earning your keep, DiNozzo. Hetty - you really should go to the hospital." Gibbs gestured to the livid bruises already blossoming around her neck. "Get it properly documented."

"You have a point," Hetty conceded. She held out her hand. "Thank you, Jethro. I'm sorry I had to drag you and Anthony all the way across the country…"

"It was nothing." He hated it when people tried to thank him, especially when he was just doing his job. The moment Hetty had called, Gibbs had known this was serious. And he owed Hetty, owed her big time.

"It was a hell of a lot to ask you. But I knew I could trust you."

"It's one hell of a business." Gibbs dragged his hand through his hair until it stood on end. "I never trusted Vance, always knew he put himself the job, but this…" For once words failed him.

"Exactly." Hetty reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle. "I don't know about you, but I could do with a drink." She unscrewed the cap and offered it to him.

"Semper fi." Gibbs took a generous slug and then handed the bottle across. "Damned fine whisky."

"Fidelis ad urnam." _Which I damned near was. _"Forty year old single malt."

In the background, DiNozzo could be heard clearing his throat in a characteristically unsubtle manner. Gibbs ignored him resolutely, something he had acquired a good deal of practice in over the years. "There's still no trace of EJ. I've got alerts set up at all the points of entry, her bio-metric data should set a dozen bells ringing the moment she enter the country, but so far everything is quiet. Too quiet."

"She'll turn up sooner or later. People like her always do." Hetty delved deep into the recesses of her purse and pulled out the container housing the silver pellet. "I need to get this to the lab. I'm afraid I ran a very rudimentary subterfuge by you, Leon. Sam never had custody of this. Perhaps you should learn to check your sources a little more carefully next time.

"There won't be a next time." Gibbs scowled down at his erstwhile boss. "I buried my friend a few weeks back, Leon. And I'm holding you personally responsible for that. You could have stopped all this, if you'd had the guts you were born with."

Some of the colour was returning to Vance's face, and he'd recovered enough to manage the ghost of a grin. "Why don't you check on that agent of yours, Hetty?"

"Mr Hannah?" Hetty felt every muscle in her body contract. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I'd let him get away with that pellet? I had to take him out, Hetty – you must see that. All it took was for my driver to make one simple phone call."

Hetty blanched. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

"You really think he's still alive? But don't take it personally, Hetty – this was purely business."

IT was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Not many people had ever seen Gibbs loose his legendary cool and it was an awe-inspiring sight. His rage was cool and controlled, but it was none the less deadly. "You want personal, Leon? I'll give you personal." Gibbs nodded to DiNozzo, who ducked into the car. Seconds later he emerged, holding a gun.

"Found it tucked into the seat pocket, boss." He tossed it casually across and Gibbs cught it one hand.

Leon Vance watched them with growing horror, which only escalated when he realised both men were wearing gloves. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Gibbs examined the gun carefully. "Put him back into the car, DiNozzo. There's no witnesses, Leon. Your gun just went off when you were struggling with Hetty."

"No!" Leon's voice had risen at least an octave. "I'll tell you everything."

"It's too damned late for that." Gibbs looked at Hetty and then at DiNozzo. "Any objections?"

DiNozzo shook his head. "Speak now or forever hold your peace? My lips are sealed."

"What possible objection could I have?" Hetty asked rhetorically.

"Money? Do you want money? I'll give you money – my friends will give you money. All you have to do is undo the handcuffs and let me make one call."

"Shut up, Leon."

"Anything – I'll do anything. Please – I'm begging you, Gibbs." Vance was desperate now, tears were running down his face as he pleaded for his life.

"Shut the fuck up and die like a man."

Seconds later, a shot rang out in the dark.


	21. Chapter 21

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-one**

"There: that's the last suture removed. The wound's healing very nicely, Detective Deeks. Want to take a look?"

Deeks was notoriously squeamish about stitches and had resolutely refused to even glance at any wound until every last suture had been safely removed. It was not logical, but something about seeing his flesh pierced by a foreign object, and knowing that the thread was literally holding his skin together just turned his stomach. Luckily, Kensi was made of sterner stuff and had no such phobias, so she had taken care of changing the dressings every day.

"It looks good, Marty," she said after a careful inspection. "It'll hardly leave a trace, once it's fully healed." At the moment, the scar was a slender line of red edging through his tanned skin, but she could see that it would fade over time. She ran her fingers down his thigh, smiling as she noticed how they'd shaved the hair around the wound and that now it was growing back in, short and stubbly.

Marty decided it was safe to risk a look. He hopped off the bed and craned his neck around to inspect the damage. "Not very impressive, is it?" A long, almost perfectly straight incision, that started just below his butt and then curving around his thigh.

"That took twenty five external stitches to close," the nurse informed him tartly. "And a couple of dozen internal, dissolving sutures into the bargain. Mr Davies took a great deal of care with that wound, you know. It's a fine piece of surgery." She sounded personally offended.

"I was kind of hoping it would look more like a shark bite," he confessed. "That would have been cool." _I could have really impressed everyone back home with that._

"You're not likely to come across many sharks in the Firth of Forth, son," he was informed briskly. "You might come across the odd haddock, but they've not got very big mouths. And no teeth. So you'll have to keep your tall tales to yourself. And you can put your trousers back on now."

Kensi felt like apologising, but the nurse gave the distinct impression she would not be very receptive to anything less than wholesale grovelling. Obviously she'd been absent the day they discussed the merits of a sympathetic bedside manner. In the end, she settled for just saying "He's done a beautiful job" and took the leaflet on after-care the nurse handed her. Skimming quickly through it, she saw that regular massage with oil was recommended to minimise the chances of scarring. Well, that wouldn't exactly be a hardship. Maybe after that bath Marty kept harping on about? Come to think about it, it might even give her a chance to model the certain something she had kept carefully hidden at the back of wardrobe in a smart carrier bag, swathed in reams of tissue-paper – even if he didn't exactly deserve such a treat, after that shark remark.

"We're making a detour," she announced on the drive back. By now, Kensi was getting the hang not only of driving on the wrong side of the road, but also of the road layout of the city, which was eccentric in the extreme.

"Why?" Marty asked, instantly suspicious of the light tone of her voice.

"It's a surprise."

"A good surprise or a bad surprise?"

"A bad surprise is commonly called a shock, Marty. Surprises are good by definition."

"Not always," he muttered darkly. "Falling through that staircase was a surprise. So was getting blown up on the freeway, not to mention… "

"Don't go through all the times you've been wounded, or I'll be grey-haired be the time we get there," she begged. "This is a good surprise, okay? You'll love it."

"We'll see." He slumped down in the seat and folded his arms. That nurse had been an unsympathetic old bag.

By some miracle, Kensi not only found a parking spot in Chambers Street, but discovered there were still ten minutes left on the meter. "This way." She grabbed hold of his arm and propelled him forward at a great rate of knots. "There. Isn't that great?"

Marty stood and surveyed the statue with a dopey grin of pure pleasure on his face. "Oh wow. Kensi, this is incredible. It's exactly like Bobby!" he exclaimed happily and reached out to caress the little dog sitting on top of a pillar. "It's Bobby to the life."

"I told you it was a nice surprise. Isn't he cute?"

"That's Greyfriar's Bobby," a lady with informed him. "A wee dog who loved his master so much, he stayed faithfully by his grave for years after the old man died. You can see the grave in the Greyfriar's kirk-yard just over there. Everybody in Edinburgh loves Bobby."

"Really? That's a true story?" Vaguely, Marty could remember watching a Disney film about a little dog when he was very small, and crying so much that he'd crawled into his Dad's lap and peeked out from the safety of his arms. He'd forgotten all about that until now – unless it had stayed in his subconscious all these years? He pulled out his cell phone. "Could you take a photo of us? You see, your Greyfriar's Bobby looks just like my dog in LA. He's called Bobby too." He pulled Kensi into a kiss and the woman indulgently took a series of photographs.

"Are you on your honeymoon?" the woman asked as she handed the phone back.

"Not yet," Marty said, as he draped his arm around Kensi's shoulders. "But we soon will be."

That was the clincher, as far as Kensi was concerned: the corset was definitely going to get its first outing and sooner rather than later.

* * *

><p>The sound of the gunshot reverberated loudly in the cool night air. While the industrial hinterlands of LA appeared deserted at this time of night, there was a real risk someone would be on the phone, calling to report a disturbance. In the back of the car, Leon Vance lay sprawled across the seat, a large damp patch seeping slowly across the groin of his pants. His driver let out a whimper of terror and tugged ineffectually against the handcuffs that tethered him to the steering wheel and then looked fearfully at the three people who stood impassively just yards away. Clearly, they were even less bothered by rules and regulations than his late boss. He bowed his head and let it rest against his hands, wondering how long it would be before they shot him too. There was no way they would leave any witnesses to this shooting<p>

DiNozzo took a cursory look inside the car. "Leon's peed himself," he announced scornfully. "Use a silencer next time, boss."

"Disturbs the aim," Gibbs responded laconically.

"Yeah, like you could miss at that range." Having realised what he'd just said, DiNozzo frantically tried to make amends. "Like you could miss at any range, I mean."

Hetty was otherwise occupied, trying frantically to get hold of her agent. "Mr Hannah's not answering his cell. Of course, he might just have forgotten to switch it back on after the flight." She knew that was not even a remote possibility – Sam was too professional to do such a thing. God alone knew what had happened to him. "Jethro – I'm worried."

Jethro Gibbs was not a man who let his emotions play out across his face, but even he could not prevent a look of concern when Hetty said that. In all their long years of acquaintance, he'd never heard he admit to being worried. Hetty was one of life's copers, someone who simply got on with whatever situation presented itself, without complaining. He nodded across at DiNozzo, who reached into the car and dragged Leon's limp body out and dumped it unceremoniously on the ground.

"Let's see what you can tell us, Leon." Kneeling down and silently bemoaning the damage the dirt would do to the knees of his suit, DiNozzo reached inside Leon's jacket. Inside the car, the driver cringed as Gibbs approached him, with a blank, totally unreadable expression on his face.

* * *

><p><em>Yes - coming soon, by popular demand, the long-awaited corset scene!<em>


	22. Chapter 22

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-two**

"I've got the driver's cell phone," Gibbs called out. He pushed at the buttons ineffectively, trying to find the details of the last call placed, with a look of disgust on his face when he was unable to access the data. "Damn thing. DiNozzo?" He shook the unfortunate phone like a ragdoll and seemed genuinely surprised when that made no difference at all.

"Bring it over here, boss." It was common knowledge that Gibbs and modern technology did not mix. DiNozzo was just grateful he hadn't hit the phone off the roof of the car. "I'll trade you Leon's little black book. Talk about clichéd. I really expected something more from him." DiNozzo grinned downwards. "You have to learn to be a little less predictable, Director Vance. Especially if you want to survive your first few weeks in jail."

Lying on the hard-packed dirt, Leon was still trying to come to terms with the fact that Gibbs' shot had gone straight through the side window, passing just inches above his head. Had his hair been any longer, the bullet would probably have given him a new parting. If it had been anyone other than Gibbs firing the gun, Leon would have thought that they had missed, but Gibbs' skill with firearms was legendary, and he was a sharpshooter par excellence. Therefore Leon had no doubt that thes hot had gone exactly where Gibbs had intended it. Once again, he'd been outsmarted by his agents. The cold wetness in his groin was acutely embarrassing, but his humiliation was not yet complete.

"Some of us still retain our moral integrity. You think I'd compromise myself for some like you?" Gibbs spat out the words in disgust. "You have no idea how much I detest you and everything you stand for. And while the thought of your death is very tempting, it's not enough to make me throw away everything I believe in, everything I've worked for. I wouldn't even waste my spit on you."

"What he said: ditto. Only I'd like to think I'd have been a better judge of character. And I wouldn't have wet myself. " DiNozzo was flicking through the information on the cell phone. "Got the number, boss. Want to lay even money that it's a burn phone and it's already been dumped?"

"Not a betting man, DiNozzo." In the distance, the familiar keen of police sirens could be heard as the screamed their way towards them, the flashing lights illuminating the night sky. "Looks like we're nearly through here."

"I've just got one more thing to do." Hetty selected a number on speed-dial. "Mr Callen? I'm afraid we've got a problem. A rather big problem."

* * *

><p>"Why can't you just have your phone set to ring like everyone else?" Kensi asked as Deeks made a grab for his pocket where the cell phone was vibrating merrily away.<p>

"That's not nearly so much fun. Nothing quite like a cheap thrill." He pulled out the phone and looked at the screen curiously. "Callen. Checking up on us, no doubt. He's probably worried we might actually be having some fun."

"Or that we've found a new pub to try and he's missing out." She looked longingly at the bar just opposite the statue, but for once Deeks wasn't paying any attention to her: he was too preoccupied with whatever Callen was saying. From the look on his face, it wasn't good news.

"Deeks? You and Kensi need to get back here. Sam's disappeared. It looks like someone's grabbed him. I've not got any more details but it looks bad. We're going to need you to call in a few favours." Callen sounded close to losing it, Deeks thought. There was an edge of panic in his voice that was wholly alien to the man. More than anything else, that set alarm bells ringing.

"You name it. We're on our way." Keeping the phone firmly pressed against his ear, Deeks grabbed Kensi's arm. "Okay, you want to show me how many short cuts you know?" They started running back to the car, Deeks listening as Callen talked and then relaying the pertinent details to Kensi. "And there's no seats on any of the commercial flights until tomorrow? Jesus Christ in a campervan. We need to be there now." He flung himself into the passenger seat as Kensi gunned the engine impatiently. "Okay, leave it to me. I'll start ringing around. We'll be with you in ten minutes."

"Make that five." Kensi roared through a set of traffic lights that were just turning to red, careened across a junction and then went pelting towards the steep hill leading to Princes Street. Deeks found himself reflexively pressing his feet against the floor and hanging onto the door handle as they went around a particularly tight bend in the road.

"It would be nice to get there alive." They were now going uphill and Deeks thought this rollercoaster drive was rivalling the best San Francisco had to offer. Cresting the top of the hill at George Street at high speed, Kensi just about managed to keep all four wheels on the floor, but both their stomachs lurched unpleasantly.

"Stop complaining. I told you I'd been on the tactical assault driving course, didn't I?"

"You did. But you didn't say if you'd actually passed it, or been booted out."

"What do you think?"

"You set the record and it's never been beaten since?" Deeks gave silent thanks that they were almost there now, as he didn't think his nerves could take much more of this. As the traffic slowed Kensi down to an almost legal speed, he was finally able to focus on his phone enough to find the number he was looking for. "Hi – Uncle Steve? It's Mikey here. Um – I'm in Scotland and I kind of need a favour. A big favour. You don't happen to have a contact who can lend me a plane? I've got to get back to LA as soon as possible?"

"What it is to have relatives with connections," Kensi mused, as she executed a racing turn into Heriot Row.

"At least yours don't try to kill you," he hissed. "No, Uncle Steve, I wasn't talking about you. Just reminiscing about cousin Emily **(1).** How's jail working out for her? Does she ever manage to catch up with Gina? **(2)** I guess they could swap tips on how to look good in an orange jumpsuit." He leapt out as the car screeched to a halt, thankful to have made it back in one piece. "Good chatting to you. I'll catch up with you soon."

"Well?" Kensi demanded, racing up the steps to the front door.

"He's calling around. You don't think he's just got a plane sitting at Edinburgh airport just in case his nephew might need it one day, do you?"

"Nothing would surprise me about you or your family," Kensi assured him.

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong> See my story **Former Glory** for details of how Emily Brandel tried to have her cousin killed.

**2.** Details of Gina's duplicity can be found in **A Little Less Conversation**

* * *

><p><em>Okay - so there wasn't any corsetry in this installment - but there will be. I promise. Randy plot bunny is licking his chops in anticipation. As long as those are the only parts of his anatamy he's concentrating on, that's fine by me, but I'm none too sanguine.<em>


	23. Chapter 23

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-three**

Sam was standing, minding his own business, waiting in a long queue for a taxi outside the terminal at LAX, along with around twenty similarly exhausted travellers. He took the opportunity to stretch his back in an attempt to get rid of all the various kinks and knots created during a 12 hour transatlantic, coast to coast flight and wondered vaguely if the seat designers would forever be consigned to the seventh circle of hell. Once the vertebrae in his neck had loosened up a little, he set to dreaming happily about finally getting to hold Denise in his arms and stroke her belly and how they could dream about all the wonderful things this baby was going to do. Meanwhile, the taxi queue slowly shuffled forward at a snail's pace, as he breathed in the familiar exhaust fumes, heard American accents surround him rather than Scottish ones and felt the still-warm air upon his skin. It seemed as if he had been away for months rather than days, but he was finally home, back where he belonged and real life, family life, could finally start back up again, rather than remaining on temporary hiatus. There was a contented smile on Sam's face as he contemplated his future, right up until the moment when someone stuck a gun stuck in the small of his back.

"Don't do anything stupid," a voice warned him.

"I wasn't going to." Damn, he didn't even have his gun on him, because of these stupid airline regulations. Hetty had arranged that someone from the office would pick their weapons up later on that morning, thinking this would save them from having to go through all the tedious business of form filling in triplicate after a twelve hour flight. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, because it meant he would get home quicker. Right now, it seemed like the dumbest idea ever.

"Make sure you stay thinking like that. There's a blue sedan over there. Do you see it?" Across the road, a car flashed its lights twice. The windows were blacked out and it was impossible to see any details of the driver, or even if there were passengers.

"Got it." _Oh God, I think my luck has just run out._

"We're going to walk very slowly over there, Mr Hannah, and you're going to get in. No tricks, because there are four guns pointed at your head right now. As well as my gun in your back and I'll blow your spine out if I even suspect you're going to try to make a run for it."

"I'm not running anywhere." The guy was probably bluffing about the other shooters, but Sam wasn't about to take that chance. He had too much riding on his survival – like a wife, a kid and a baby on the way. Not to mention the crowds of people all around him, any one of whom could be killed by a stray bullet. Sam felt naked without his gun, naked and helpless, like a rat in a trap.

"Keep your hands away from your body and start walking." The gun prodded him painfully in the kidney.

Sam started walking over towards the car, going as slowly as her dared, hoping against hope that someone would spot what was happening. He had one chance to try to get someone to notice. "EJ must be paying you one hell of a lot of money. Kidnapping a federal agent will get you twenty years without blinking." He raised his voice as loud as he dared, but there was too much noise and activity around, and in any case, most people were too intent on their own business to even notice him.

A hand reached forward and opened the rear door. "Get in. And keep your hands where I can see them."

Sam scrambled inelegantly into the car. They'd rigged it so that the interior lights were all out and his eyes took a few moments to adjust to the dim surroundings. After blinking a couple of times, his night vision finally kicked in and he looked incredulously at the woman sitting next to him, cradling a gun in her lap.

"Hi Sam. Remember me?"

He was hardly likely to forget her. The damned thing was that it wasn't EJ after all. With a growing sense of dread, Sam realised that he'd been set up. He was being used to lure his team back to LA and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it. Things were suddenly starting to make sense – deadly sense.

"What do you want?"

She raised the gun up to his temple, and smiled sweetly. "I want Max Gentry. And you're going to bring him to me."

Maybe it was because he was tired, or perhaps it was because she'd taken him by surprise, but Sam had made a basic error – he'd taken his eye off the man behind him. The cosh that connected soundly with the back of head came as a complete surprise and sent him tumbling down onto the floor of the car, which then sped out of the airport and into the safe anonymity of the night. AS they left the airport, his cell phone was tossed out of the window, directly into the path of an oncoming car, whose wheels crushed several hundred dollars' worth of cutting edge technology into smithereens. Meanwhile, the travellers continued to pour out of the terminal in a steady stream, making their way to the taxi queues. Sam had been abducted in plain view and nobody had even noticed.

* * *

><p>"Well?" Callen demanded. "Any luck?" He was pacing the floor like a tiger in a cage and practically leapt on them the moment they came in.<p>

"I'm waiting to hear," Deeks said tersely. Did Callen really think he could rustle a plane up out of thin air in seven minutes?

"You did make the call, right?" _Tell me we're going to get back to LA today, Deeks – please?_

"I made the call." _You think I was calling for a take-out first? I'm not a complete idiot, Callen._

Kensi stood awkwardly to one side, not quite sure what to say. The air was thick with tension, and the two men were practically standing nose to nose. _Whoa! Testosterone overload. And the mad thing is that we're all worried about Sam, we all feel helpless._ "I'll go pack the bags, shall I?"

"Good idea." Deeks pulled the phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen, willing it to spring into life as Kensi made a tactical exit. _Nicely done, darling. Wish I was as quick off the mark as you. _He adjusted the settings, so that it would ring, rather than just vibrate, because he didn't want to take any chances.

"Who did you call?" Callen strode across the room, the heels of his shoes sounding sharp on the polished wooden floorboards and stared out of the window, almost as if he expected to see a plane land on the cobbled street outside.

"Uncle Steve. The man's got more contacts than Hetty has teapots. If anyone can get us a plane, he can. Did Hetty give any more information about what happened?"

"Only that Sam's disappeared. Last seen walking out of the terminal. And then seems to have dropped off the face of the earth."_ Isn't that enough?_

"No ransom demands?" _Come on Callen, I'm worried too. I know he's your partner, but he's my friend too. Work with me here._

"No nothing." _Enough with the questions, Deeks, can't you see I'm trying to think here? _Callen didn't bother to turn around, just kept looking out of the window, the fingers of both hands moving nervously, rubbing against the fabric of his pants._. _

"What about his phone?" Deeks persisted. _Oh God, that's not good if they haven't got in touch to demand something. That means they want Sam for leverage. And they could keep us hanging aroud for ages before they get in touch._

"What about it? Hetty's tried calling him, but there's no answer."

"No GPS tracking signal?"

"Damn. I knew I'd forgotten something." Callen pulled out his own phone and would have hit speed dial, if Deeks' hand had not closed over his own.

"Hetty will have done that by now. And if she didn't think of it, then Eric would have." He tried to keep his voice calm and level, and gave Callen's own hand a small squeeze before he let go. _And if she's not called by now with an update, that that means the phone's dead. I really wish Kensi was here. Women are better at this sort of thing than men._

"I can't stand being here and not being able to do anything." Callen leaned his face against the glass and continued to stare down at the street.

"It sucks." Deeks looked at his own phone again and wished desperately that his uncle would call back.


	24. Chapter 24

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-four**

Back in LA, "it sucks" was a pretty summary of how eric was feeling about the current situation. The airport security cameras had given a splendid view of the back of the man who'd abducted Sam. "He knows where the cameras are," he sang out and Gibbs grunted in his general direction. So far the guy had only used monosyllables. If you looked in the dictionary under "taciturn", there should be a photograph of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Can you bring up any more detail? Enlarge it a bit?" At least DiNozzo was semi-polite, even if he did keep smiling at Nell, who blushed every time she caught his eye, which only encouraged the agent.

"I'll try, but it's a lousy angle." The close-up was no more revealing, disclosing only that the subjects was of average height and medium colouring.

"Can't you do any better than that?" Eric could sense that Gibbs was glaring at him, like the guy had lasers instead of eyes.

"It's not me. I can only work with what I've got."

"Abby usually finds some reflective surface and… "

"Do you see any reflective surfaces? No, neither do I. And I'm not Abby, but I do know what I'm doing." _Christ, don't they think I want to find Sam as much as they do?_

"Nobody is questioning your competence," Hetty interjected.

Gibbs gave her a curious look that Eric couldn't read at all and went over to the screen and stared intently at it. "It's not EJ, that's for sure."

"Definitely not." DiNozzo joined him. "I'd know her ass anywhere, and that's not it." He glanced sideways at Gibbs. "Too much information. Sorry, boss." There was not the slightest note of regret in his voice.

"She could be in the car." Gibbs gestured impatiently at Eric. "We need to see more detail of the interior. Those damned blacked-out windows… "

Eric keyed in a few details and magnified the image as much as possible, but all that was visible through the open door was the rear head rest.

"Less that useless."

Eric was trying very hard not to take this personally, but it was hard.

"Tell me about the car?" He didn't bother turning around.

"False plates. We put out a BOLO – of course. No bites so far." Two could play at the "short answers" game, Eric thought.

"Did you track it?"

"Yes. I followed it out of the airport and onto the freeway."

"And?" Gibbs turned around and regarded Eric steadily. His eyes were cold and penetrating, like a pair of ice-lasers, as Deeks might say. Eric wished fervently that Deeks was here and baiting Gibbs in his normal fashion.

"And they turned off, went into an area with no cameras. I'm guessing they switched cars there, because it's not been seen since."

"I'm onto LAPD," DiNozzo announced. "I'll get them to run a couple of patrols by, just in case." As he left the room, already talking on the phone, Nell trotted off eagerly in his wake. Eric gave her a hard look. _Traitor._

"For all the good that will do. They're long gone." Gibbs sounded resigned. Pissed, but resigned.

Eric accessed another set of cameras."I'll keep looking."

"You do that." Gibbs stalked out of Ops.

"Is he always this warm and fuzzy?"

Hetty smiled sympathetically. "Wait till you catch him on a bad day. His bark is worse than his bite, people tell me."

"That's not exactly a consolation. I already feel pulverised." With a sigh, Eric settled himself comfortably and began scrolling through the camera feeds, waiting for a dark sedan to miraculously appear, along with an attendant squadron of flying pigs, with maybe a unicorn for good measure.

* * *

><p>Across on the other side of LA, almost exactly on the edge of the city limits, Sam lay upon a concrete floor, hands and feet tightly bound. The room was dark, with the only light source a small grill high up in the wall: apart from that there wasn't even a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. From what he was able to make out, the room was simply a storage area, that wasn't wired for power. It was, however, very soundly built indeed. He knew this, because his legs ached where he'd kicked at the walls. Judging from the damp cold that was seeping into his bones, the room was at least partially underground. Sam's head ached terribly, and already his shoulders were beginning to cramp from the way his hands were restrained behind his back.<p>

"Hello?" His voice echoed mockingly back at him. Outside, a coyote howled and the sound sent a shiver running down his back. Nobody answered. Apart from the coyote, Sam couldn't hear a single other noise, except the hoarse sound of his breathing.

_Don't think about being trapped_, he told himself, _trying to curb the fear that was rising from his gullet. This is different. It's completely different. It's not like before. This is a room – there's plenty of space. It's not like before, when you lay on your back and you could feel your hot breath coming back because you were in a damned box. There's fresh air. Everything's going to be alright. They'll find you. You'll get out of here._

After a concerted effort, Sam managed to bring his breathing under control. He rolled over onto his side and stared longingly at the small piece of moon that glinted in through the holes in the grill and wondered what Denise was thinking. And how he was ever going to make this up to her. He'd been in some hideous situations before, and made it out alive, if not quite in one piece. But Sam couldn't ever remember feeling quite so alone, or quite so helpless.

They just about jumped out of their skins when the phone finally rang: both men grabbing their respective cells and staring at the screens.

"Hello?" Callen had not recognised the number.

"Agent Callen? It's Sarah MacLeod, from the Security Service here. Are you still interested in EJ Barratt?"

"Very interested indeed." Callen gave a thumbs up sign to Deeks.

"She's been apprehended at Heathrow Airport, attempting to board a flight to LAX."

"I'm on my way." Callen wrote down brief details, thanked Sarah and ended the call. "We've got her. EJ's finally come out of the woodwork. I'll make my own way back to LA, with her."

"I don't envy you." Deeks shuddered. "She's a bit like a black widow – or maybe a praying mantis? The praying widow? Watch your back with her. In fact, watch everything."

"Don't worry – I will. And it doesn't much matter what we call her, because in a few days time, EJ will be in a maximum security facility, under 24 hour supervision. She won't be seeing sunshine for a long time." The old lightness was back in his voice and Callen seemed to have a new energy.

"Callen? If EJ's still in Britain, who the hell took Sam? And why?" Deeks looked genuinely confused.

The relief that had been coursing through Callen's body evaporated instantly. Jesus, Mary and Joseph – what the hell was going on here? He'd been so sure that EJ was involved, that he'd never even considered the possibility that Sam's abduction might be unconnected. A new board had come into play, just as they were approaching checkmate on the original game, only this time they had no idea who their opponent was. And the risks were that much greater. He looked across at Deeks, who was still holding his own phone in his hand. "Get back to LA and find out. Start digging."

Before Deeks could say a word, his cell burst into life. "Uncle Steve?" He listened intently for a few moments. "That's great."

"He's got you a plane?" Callen demanded.

Deeks nodded and continued his conversation. "I'll call when I'm back home. Yeah, you're right, we should catch up. At the next board meeting – well, I'm not quite sure how I'm fixed for that. But I'll definitely call. And say thanks to Maxine for the loan of the plane. Who knew selling stuffed animals could make you so much money?"

"What it is to have friends in high places."

"Don't mock it. Like they say – you use it or you lose it."

Kensi came in just in time to catch that. "I don't think there's any danger of that, Marty." She was looking very smug.

"I thought we'd told you to stop with the humble brags? Both of you." The instant the words left his mouth, Callen thought of Sam and wished desperately he was here. And he looked at the pair of them, standing there with identical "cats got the cream" looks on their smug faces and it all made sense. Kensi and Deeks were going home in a private plane. "Two words: mile-high club?"

Deeks positively smirked. "One word: yes."

"Final word: please." Kensi was very glad she'd put that corset in her hand luggage.

"Still, it could be worse," Deeks said consolingly.

"How? A twelve hour journey with psycho EJ and her leather hot pants for company? What could possibly be worse than wondering if she's either going to jump my bones or stab me with the plastic cutlery? Apart from having to watch the entire series of Twilight films, back to back."

"Can I get back to you on that?"

* * *

><p><em>And guess what is coming in the next chapter? Any preferences for colour of corset?<em> _Stockings and suspenders? High heels? Your wish is my command_


	25. Chapter 25

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-five**

"You're sure this plane can get us all the way across the Atlantic?" Kensi looked dubious. "It looks awfully small."

"I'm sure. And, more to the point, so is the pilot. They're kind of funny about things like making sure they've got the right plane for the job. Or enough fuel to get to their destination."

"There's no need to be sarcastic." She looked at the plane sitting on the tarmac again, and then at the other planes waiting to taxi down the other runway. "They're an awful lot bigger."

"That's because they take more passengers." Marty took hold of her hand and marched her forwards. "It's a Gulfstream 550."

"That's nice." Clearly, she was meant to be impressed, Kensi thought, as she walked as slowly as possible.

It was gradually dawning on Marty that Kensi was less than enthusiastic about going home. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter." She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the plane again. It still looked awfully small. Kind of puny, more like a child's idea of a plane than something that would take them safely across the vast expanse of the Atlantic ocean.

"Are we going to play the game where I keep asking and you keep saying there's nothing wrong and then you get sulky because I'm not a mind reader?" _You know the game, because we go through this at least once a month, every month. _Marty did a quick calculation and realised that whatever else it might be, it certainly wasn't the _"don't look at me the wrong way or I'll serve your balls on toast for supper"_ time of the month. For which he was truly grateful.

"I don't really like flying, okay?"

"Of course it's okay. You should have said." _And don't worry, because with what I've got planned, you won't have time to think about the fact we're thousands of feet up in the air._ "I'm sorry I didn't realise, because you were fine on the flight over."

"I was paralytic. That's why I drank so much – because I was scared."

"I would have held your hand." Marty raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. " I could keep doing this if it would make you feel better."

Despite herself, Kensi laughed. "I could think of other places I'd rather have you kiss me."

"Really? Like where?" He led her up the steps. "Like in a plane? Like in this plane?"

"I suppose so." Kensi sat down in a leather chair and twirled around experimentally. "It's quite nice." Her knuckles showed white as she gripped the armrests convulsively.

Marty went over to the bar and investigated the contents. "Okay, you've got a choice – champagne or Rescue Remedy."

"No choice. Rescue Remedy tastes foul."

"Champagne it is then." Just to be on the safe side and not wanting a repeat of the last time Kensi drank alcohol when flying, he only opened a half bottle.

The plane started to vibrate as the engines started and within second they were moving slowly towards the runway. Marty settled himself next to her and fastened the lap-belt. "Ready to go home?"

"I'm ready." She clinked her glass against his. "Here's to a safe flight."

"I'll drink to that."

"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"

"We're in a luxury plane, we're drinking champagne, and most importantly, there's no-one to interrupt us – what's not to enjoy?"

Kensi managed to stifle a gasp as the plane suddenly soared into the air. "Goodbye Scotland," she said.

"Hello fun." Marty finished his glass of champagne. "Now, about that corset."

"What corset?" She tried very hard to look innocent.

"The one you tried to hide in the wardrobe."

Kensi slowly undid a couple of buttons on her blouse. "This one?" She stood up and undid the remainder and let the blouse slip off her shoulder and slide onto the floor. Her jeans followed suit a few seconds later. There were very few occasions when Marty Deeks was lost for words, but this was definitely one of them. Kensi walked over to him and insinuated her way onto his lap. "Cat got your tongue, Marty?" Her tongue flickered briefly between her lips and he moved his face closer. "Oh no. I didn't say you could move, did I?" She stood up and walked to the back of the cabin, Marty's eyes following her every inch of the way, transfixed by this new Kensi, wearing black satin and lace and the sheerest black stockings imaginable. Her waist looked tiny, her butt incredible and her legs seemed to go forever. He didn't have a clue what this new game was, but it sure as hell looked like fun.

* * *

><p>"That's Erica Jane Barrett. Positive identification." Callen looked through the two-way mirror at the woman lying in the corner of the custody suite at Heathrow airport, curled up in a foetal position and rocking slowly back and forwards, keening softly to herself. While he knew it was EJ, there was something badly wrong here. "She's not said anything? Nothing at all."<p>

"Not a single word. The arresting officer said one minute she was screaming and bawling, "like a fishwife" were his exact words, and he had quite a job to subdue her." Jenkins had a nasty bite mark on his thigh where EJ had managed to draw blood, and had been taken off to hospital for a tetanus injection and HIV/AiDs and hepatitis testing. "When they put her in here, she just seemed to withdraw into herself. And she'd been like this ever since."

"Could it be an act? I really need to get her back to LA?" _And I need to get back to LA myself. Urgently._

"Does it look like an act to you?" Sarah Macleod asked. "We're awaiting our psychiatrist, but my guess is she'll be sectioned under the Mental Health Act and taken to a secure unit where she can receive treatment. At the moment, I don't think she would even understand if we charged her with an offence."

This was not the news he needed. "Could she be on something?"

"We'll test her for drugs, after the psychiatrist has assessed her. But this has all the hallmarks of an acute mental collapse."

"There's no way she's going back to LA today, is there?" Callen wished with all his heart that he could go through into the room and wring EJ's scrawny little neck with his bare hands and damned well make her tell him where Sam was. It was nearly 18 hours since he'd disappeared and there was still no news. Not a single demand, not even one possible sighting. It looked bad. And EJ was the only lead they had, only it didn't look like she'd be making sense any time soon – if ever.

"You'd be doing well to get her back next week, I'm afraid." She looked genuinely sorry, Callen thought. Only he didn't need sympathy – he needed action. More importantly, Sam needed action.

"Hetty? It's not good news at this end. Don't count on seeing me anytime soon, because EJ has finally gone right overboard and she's barely keeping her head above the water. You want to cheer me up and tell me you've found Sam?"

"I wish I could, Mr Callen. Believe me, I wish I could." Hetty was trying to summon up every last ounce of courage she had in her body before she went out to see Sam's wife. She'd broken bad news to families before, too many times, and their haunted faces were something that remained etched on her brain with acid. This wasn't something she would ever dream of delegating though, no matter how difficult a job it was, because she knew how much worse it was for the relatives. For Denise, she corrected herself. Denise Hannah. She wasn't just Sam's wife, she was a person in her own right, with hopes and dreams, which Hetty was about to shatter irreparably. Not to mention the child, Crosby. Sam's little boy. Would he see her face in his nightmares – the woman who ruined his childhood because she took his daddy away?

* * *

><p><em>Randy plot bunny is breathing very hard for some unknown reason. I wonder if he is asthmatic?<em>


	26. Chapter 26

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-six**

_Tissue alert! But only after a completely gratuitous scene onboard the plane. And why not?_

* * *

><p>Kensi sidled over to the coach and eased herself down. "Come over here." She raised her arms and caught her hair between her hands, twisting it into a coil and then piling it on top of her head, so that tendrils framed her face and her breasts rode high and lush.<p>

Like a man under a spell, Marty crossed the airplane cabin.

"Kneel down." This feeling of power was an incredibly aphrodisiac, Kensi thought. The whole BDSM scene suddenly made sense to her.

Not taking his eyes off her for a second, he obeyed without a question, crouching before her, his hands gently caressing her thighs, playing with the suspender straps, roving up and down and teasing her with each flicker of his fingers. If this was a game, then it took two people to play it. And Marty loved playing games.

"Well?" Kensi extended one leg and surveyed her shoes with evident satisfaction: sky-high stilettos that arched her foot and looked like sex personified, with their rampant flourish of slim straps, silver accents and glossy leather. Although hellishly uncomfortable, they were the personification of "fuck-me" shoes. And she wasn't exactly going to be doing a lot of walking in them.

"You look amazing." He took hold of her foot and caressed her instep, before allowing his fingers to travel all the way up her leg, starting at the ankle, travelling with infinitesimal speed up the entire length, pausing only for a fraction of a second at the stocking top where they toyed momentarily with the suspender fastening. "You look fantastic."

"Did I say you could talk?" Kensi dropped her arms and her hair tumbled forward, in glorious array, the waves falling all around his face. Lowering her leg back down, she placed both feet on the ground, holding him firmly in place with her thighs.

"Sorry." He did not look in the slightest bit repentant. Quite the contrary, in fact. Kneeling in front of her, Marty looked like a debauched angel who had just discovered what heaven was.

"Don't do it again."

Correctly judging that no further words were required, Marty leant forward and put his hands around her waist, pulled in by the corset and stared into her eyes for a long moment, seeing how huge her pupils were. _I don't know who is more turned on by this – me or her._ Not that it mattered of course, in fact it was pretty much a moot point. Almost of their own volition, his hands moved upwards to cup her breasts, and his thumbs found the jointure between silky satin and pliant flesh. Kensi trembled under his touch, and with her eyes half-closed she looked semi-hypnotised. Her lips parted slowly, and she ran her tongue over them. A knowing smile curved her lips as Marty unconsciously copied the movement.

"Kiss me." She didn't need to tell him twice. Marty kissed her hard and uncompromisingly, his tongue roving around her mouth urgently, his lips crushing against her own and his hands pulling her closer into his body, pressing her so close that she could feel the hammering of his heart. And then he moved back, captured both her ankles in his grasp and swung her legs up so that she was lying supine on the couch.

"Good game." His breath was uneven, but his eyes were wicked: sparkling with deviant joy. Kensi arched her back as she watched him tear off his shirt and she reached out to caress his taut stomach and then pulled him down so that he was crouching above her, laughing into her face before enveloping her in another head-spinning embrace. "Bloody best time I've ever had on a plane journey."

Marty's fingers were everywhere now and Kensi could feel her body spiralling rapidly out of control. "Me too," she gasped and clasped his buttocks firmly, pulling him to her, feeling just how much he wanted her and knowing she wanted him even more. All the fears of flying flew out of the window and Kensi wondered why she'd ever bothered with Valium when sex was so much better.

* * *

><p>She'd always known it would come to this: that one day there would be a knock at the door and her world would fall apart. So far, they'd been lucky, but mere luck could not last forever and it was inevitable that if you kept on punching your luck then one day you push too far and everything would collapse, like a house built upon sand. And it looked like today was the day when their luck ran out and everything crumbled into the sea to be washed away. Every time Sam came home, Denise said a prayer of thanks, that once again they had been lucky: she'd trusted in luck for so long. But today was the day the dreams fell apart. Today was the day when Denise Hannah looked out of her living room window and saw Hetty Lang getting out of her car, with <em>that<em> expression on her face. Today was the day when her word ended.

It wasn't easy being married to a man whose everyday job routinely placed him danger, who regularly went far away from home at a moment's notice. And it was made ten times worse when you also had a child to look after, a child who adored his Daddy and missed him dreadfully, yet was blissfully unaware of the fact that each time Sam left, this might be the last time they saw him. Denise tried very hard to give Crosby a normal life, to shield him from worry, but even the strongest mother in the world couldn't stop Hetty Lang walking inexorably up the path that wound between neat beds packed full of bright flowers. She remembered trying to explain what it was like to Sam, trying to make him understand what it was like being the one left behind, trying desperately to hold the threads of normal life together, and all the time not go out of her mind with worry.

"_One of has to be there for Crosby. And it's me by default every single time. Do you think I sleep much when you're away? Do you have any idea how many times I've paced the house, rehearsing how I will tell Crosby he's never going to see his Daddy again?"_

Sam had wept when Denise finally confessed her fears, when she'd finally confronted him with the reality of her life. Most of the time, she could be strong, resilient even. But seeing her husband completely unmanned like that had almost been more than she could bear. The distance that had grown up between them, the walls of self-defence they had each erected came crashing down in that moment and finally they had been able to start to build a new life together. The new baby was going to be the pinnacle of that rejuvenated life. Well, that had been the plan.

Denise was a realist. She knew she could not run away from this reality, no matter how much she might desire an alternate scenario. This was real life and it sucked. But it was better knowing, then not knowing. She'd been waiting for this day to come for a long time and not that it had finally arrived, she realised that she had planned her reactions all along, that this was merely entering into a well-rehearsed routine. This day had always been going to come. The waiting had been terrible, but it was almost a relief to know that she wouldn't have to worry any more. It would soon be all over, there were just a few preliminary moves to go through first. All she had to do was to open the door and let this new part of her life in.

"Good morning, Denise." Hetty stood on the doorstep and watched her reactions carefully. "May I come in?"

Denise smiled and opened the door a little wider. "I've been expecting you." One hand crept over to caress her belly briefly. Resistance was futile. In the end, the readiness was all. And she'd been ready for this for a long, long time. It was almost a relief to know she wouldn't have to wait much longer.

* * *

><p><em>Slushy plot bunny has retreated to the cupboard under the stairs and say he isn't talking to me any more. Evil plot bunny says he a woose and is bouncing happily on the trampoline, demanding more death and mayhem. I'm very tempted to indulge him.<em>


	27. Chapter 27

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-seven**

Hetty perched on the edge of a chair, her back straight and her eyes clouded. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." She'd said the words many times before, but it never got any easier. In many ways, it got worse.

"Is he dead?" Denise asked the question before Hetty could continue. "Just tell me if he's dead, Please." _Don't draw this out, just get it over with._

"It's not quite as simple as that, I'm afraid." Hetty took hold of the younger woman's hand. "Sam is missing, Denise. We don't know where he is, or who has taken him, or even why."

It took some moments for the import of Hetty's words to sink in. Denise had been preparing herself for Sam's death, but this strange sort of limbo was almost worse. "You must know something?" Her voice was thin and high. She'd never thought of this eventuality, knowing that he was in danger, that he might even be dead – but with no confirmation either way – this was beyond anything she'd ever imagined. Denise felt sick and had to breathe deeply to stop the world spinning around.

"I wish we did. Denise – you have my word that we are doing everything we can. We've got teams out looking for Sam, there are alerts out across the state. Mr Callen is following up leads in London and Detective Deeks and Ms Blye are flying home right now. We won't stop until we find him. I promise you that." Hetty clasped her hand tightly. "We're all here for you. Whatever we can do for you, we will."

"Thank you." Denise sat back in her chair and thought for a few moments. "It's Crosby's birthday at the weekend. What shall I do about it?" It seemed very important that her son had a proper birthday and that he should enjoy it, especially if his life was going to be overshadowed in the future. She knew that the longer Sam was missing, the smaller the chances of him being found alive were.

"What did you have planned?" For once Hetty was at a loss to know what to suggest, her experience in organising parties for young children being precisely nil.

"We've invited all his friends, but that's as far as we've got." Denise could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. "Sam said he had this great idea… " It was no use, she couldn't hold them back any longer. With a sob, she buried her head in her hands.

"You have a good cry, my dear." Sometimes, as Hetty knew, there was nothing else to do. It didn't particularly help or make you feel any better, but it was a relief not to have pretend you weren't devastated or try to bottle everything up and try to be strong for other people. Sometimes there was a time to weep. "And we'll make sure Crosby has a wonderful birthday." Of course, it went without saying that the best possible present would be to have his father home, but real life had an annoying tendency not to work out as neatly as things did in the movies. But while she might not know very much about planning children's parties, she knew a woman who did. Taking a deep breath, Hetty found the number on her cell phone.

"This is Hetty Lang calling. I have a favour to ask."

"You want _me_ to help _you_? You are joking, right?"

"I couldn't be more serious. I need your help, Caroline – it's for Sam's son, Crosby. Can I come over to talk to you?" Hetty was fully prepared to do whatever it took to make sure Crosby had the best possible birthday. Even if that meant she had to metaphorically prostrate herself at Caroline's feet.

"I'll be expecting you."

* * *

><p>"We'll be starting our descent in ten minutes." The captain's announcement made Kensi jump up with a start. Marty lay sprawled on the couch, still sound asleep and the cabin floor was strewn with discarded clothing, including that infamous corset. Although she knew she'd looked amazing in it, Kensi had been highly relieved when Marty had finally unlaced her from its restrictions and she could breathe properly again. Still, it had been worth it.<p>

"Wake up." She bent over and blew gently in his ear and watched in fascination as his whole body gave a convulsive shudder. "Get some clothes on, Deeks."

"I was having this great dream," he grumbled, sitting up and running his hands through his hair.

"Life's hard." Kensi pulled out a travel bag and began rummaging for her hairbrush. "How come your hair always looks so good when you've slept on it and mine just goes like a bird's nest?" She winced as the bristles caught on an especially recalcitrant tangle.

"Beats me." Repressing a yawn, he staggered around the cabin, pulling on clothing and bitching about the lack of coffee. Now that they were almost home, there was no way he could avoid thinking about what would happen next. In the next few days he was going to have assume the skin of Max Gentry again, was going to have to climb into his clothes and immerse himself in Max's grubby and violent life once more. As long as they had been in Scotland, Marty had been able to repress these thoughts, to kid himself that maybe by some miracle things would work out or that somehow he would magically get a "get out of jail free" card. But as they got closer to LA, he knew that wasn't going to happen.

Max frightened him. Max was the dark side of his personality, all the things he hated about himself, given free rein. The last time, there had been moments when Max threatened to take over completely. Marty wasn't sure he'd be able to stop Max if things got that bad again. Kensi had only seen a small glimpse of Max, and Sam had told him how shocked she'd been. What the hell was she going to think when she saw the full picture? Thinking about it wasn't going to achieve anything though, except to pull him down, so Marty forced a smile onto his face and hoped desperately that Hetty would have good news when they landed, that she would tell him that Sam was found and he was alright and then life could go back to normal, and he could lock Max Gentry in a box and throw away the key. But the black mood refused to go away, it was gnawing at his guts. It was like Max was already knocking at the door of his consciousness and that pretty soon he'd be back again.

Hetty didn't have to say a single word when they walked into the arrivals lounge to find he waiting impatiently. They could tell by the look on her face that there was no news, far less any good news. "I'm not taking any chances with taxi queues," was her opening remark, before walking briskly to the exit.

"We had a great trip, thanks for asking," Marty called out in the general direction of her back.

"Don't." Kensi squeezed his hand and got a belligerent look for her troubles. "Give her a break, Marty. You think this is easy for her?"

"It's not exactly a meander through the marigolds for any of us," he muttered. Pulling his hand free, he concentrated all his efforts on pushing the luggage trolley, wondering how the hell they had managed to accumulate so many bags in such a short time. "Was there a single day you didn't go shopping?"

"Would you have wanted to explain to Caroline why you hadn't brought her back a present?" Kensi asked sweetly. "I thought not. You should be thanking me, not moaning."

"If you think I'm moaning now, just wait till I get the credit card bills in."

"You really can be a complete pain sometimes, do you know that?"

"Ditto." Marty took care to say this under his breath. _Back for all of ten minutes and already things are going south._


	28. Chapter 28

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-eight**

Kensi was experiencing the all-too familiar effects of crossing several time zones – backwards – and felt as disorientated as Alice when she went through the looking glass. Although it was late evening in California, her body clock was insisting it was early morning, just about time to get up, in fact. Confused wasn't the word for it. And adding that to the worry over Sam, plus the inexplicably black mood Marty was in, made her want nothing more than to get home, go to bed and pray that tomorrow would be better.

"Any news about Sam?" she asked tentatively, once they had finally got all the luggage into the trunk. Marty was sitting in the back of the car in stoney silence, with a particularly boot-faced expression.

"Nothing." Hetty pulled out into the steady stream of traffic leaving the airport. "We've got APBs out, every NCIS agent in the country has been alerted, as has LAPD. Homeland Security are being very co-operative. For once. But there's been no news, no demands and no sighting." Despite her best efforts, Hetty could not keep a note of despondency from creeping into her voice. It was now more than 24 hours since Sam had been abducted and she was beginning to wonder if there was even the slightest chance that they would find him alive.

"How's Denise?" Marty asked, glad of the chance to think of someone other than himself and Max Gentry.

"She's being very strong." Well, that was to be expected. Sam wasn't going to marry some lily-livered girl, after all.

"And Crosby?" God, the kid reminded him so much of himself at a younger age – kind of naive and managing to get into trouble without thinking about it. Marty knew exactly what it was like to lose your father as a kid, how it ripped your whole family apart.

"He doesn't know - yet. Denise thought it best not to worry him until we know one way or the other. And I agree with her," Hetty added, catching a glimpse of the expression on his face in the rear view mirror. "She did ask for our help in one matter though."

Kensi sat listening to the conversation, trying to work out if Hetty knew about the pregnancy. From the sounds of things, Denise hadn't said anything. The woman was clearly as close-mouthed as her husband when it suited her. One more thing to be added onto the pyre of worries that was smouldering away. And then she sat up a little straighter, not quite able to believe what she was hearing.

"Well, if Caroline agrees, I don't see why not. After all, how much trouble can it be to host a birthday party for an eight-year old?"

How much trouble? Had the man lost what remained of his brains? Didn't he remember what he had been like as a child? From her extensive baby-sitting experience, Kensi knew that eight-year old boys have the mass potential to cause more damage than a small army, should they put their minds to it. Which they usually did. Ghengis Khan was as nothing compared to ten small boys bent on having fun. Kensi still shuddered when she thought about the last time she had helped out at a party: while the little girls had wanted to hold her hand and braid her hair, one particularly feral boy had clasped his arms firmly around her thigh and then sunk his teeth into her butt, just for the hell of it. Her banshee shriek and nearly deprived the little brat of his hearing though. She'd needed to perch on one cheek every time she sat down for a whole week. And now Marty was agreeing to host a party for a whole hoard of them? Kensi felt like telling Hetty to turn the car right around and head back to LAX.

For some inexplicable reason, Caroline was misty-eyed at the prospect of inviting a heathen hoard of mini-barbarians to wreak havoc on the house and gardens she'd spent years lovingly tending. So much so, they she even managed to be remarkably civil to Hetty, after she'd recovered from the shock of seeing Marty with noticeably shorter hair. Unfortunately, this then set her off on a series of reminiscences, which involved photographs of sundry Brandel birthday parties over the years.

"You had pony rides in the garden for your birthday?" Kensi couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

"I had pony rides in the garden," he agreed wearily. "Kensi – I was five years old. I didn't exactly have much say in the matter."

"It was your first birthday after the kidnapping," Caroline said, looking fondly at a snap of Marty wearing a cowboy outfit, with a particularly low-slung gunbelt. "Your parents wanted to make it extra special. Don't you look so sweet and so happy? I know I've got more photographs somewhere."

Kensi immediately felt like a complete heel. "You are kind of cute," she admitted. _God, he was frigging adorable. I wonder if our children will look like that?_

"I know," he said modestly, while praying Caroline wouldn't find the rest of the photos any time soon. He distinctly recalled several where he was wearing only the hat, gunbelt and a dazzling smile. His life would not be worth living if Kensi got her hands on those.

"So, do you want to have a cowboy-themed party for Crosby?"

"Not his scene," Marty was definite about that. Plus, he didn't fancy the chances of any ponies pitted against Crosby and his little friends. "He's more action-oriented. I was thinking more along the lines of a pool party, with a slip-and-slide, those water guns – that sort of thing." _Wear them out as quickly as possible, then fill them up with sugar and send them home to their parents tired __**and **__hyper-active. _

Kensi looked at him incredulously._ Yeah, that sounds really safe, Marty._ "Why not get some lifeguards while you're at it? Just in case."

Managing to completely miss the sarcasm inherent in her statement, Marty's face lit up. "Great idea! Water fights for the kids, Baywatch babes for the grown-ups. You're a genius, Kensi. Wait till I tell Callen – he's going to love it."

* * *

><p>Sam would have loved it too, only he was otherwise occupied, trying to keep his mind together. The solitary confinement was starting to get to him, along with the serious lack of water. Despite all his best efforts, he was still handcuffed, and the door to his prison was impossible to budge. Every so often, he cried out for help, hoping that a passer-by might hear him, but without any water to drink, his voice was becoming hoarse and his throat felt raw and dry. By his reckoning, at least one day had passed, without any contact from his captors. Being a realist, Sam had come to the conclusion that he had been taken, not as bait, but as revenge. He'd known that the moment he'd seen Nicole Martindale sitting in the back seat of the car, the classic personification of the woman scorned. And the crazy thing was that Deeks was already preparing to go back undercover as Max Gentry again, He was going to play right into Nicole's hands and there wasn't a damned thing Sam could do to stop it. Deeks was going to get himself killed, of that Sam was perfectly certain.<p>

For the second night in a row, Sam lay and stared out at the small patch of night sky and prayed to whatever Gods there were in an unformed stream of thoughts. _Don't let me die like this, in darkness. Look after Denise. And Crosby. And the baby. Don't let her grieve too much. Let them find me. Please, let them find me. I'm not a bad man, I've done my best. _He just hoped that somebody up there was listening.

* * *

><p><em>Evil plot bunny thought it was hilarious when I told him I'd been bitten on the butt, just like Kensi. That's him on bread and water rations for the next few days. QUite fitting actually - he can feel some soidarity for poor Sam. But things are starting to look rather black for the team right now. I almost feel guilty. Almost...<em>

_In case it has escaped anyone's notice, I haven't maimed Marty yet in this story. Aren't you proud of my self-restraint?_


	29. Chapter 29

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Twenty-nine**

Eventually, all the party details were sorted out to the mutual satisfaction of Caroline and Hetty, by which stage Kensi had given up the will to live. Who would have thought there was so much to be said about catering for small boys, when surely hot dogs, burgers and fries would be more than adequate. After ten minutes of increasingly vituperative discussions, Kensi had finally come out and said this, and Marty had agreed with her, which seemed to be the trick. The only diversion had been Callen calling to say that he and Nico would be arriving back later in the day, as EJ was still in what the doctors were referring to as a catatonic state. He had his suspicions that this might actually be a pre-programmed response, deeply imprinted as part of Operation Frankenstein, but this was not something that could be discussed with the British doctors – not until clearance had been given at a high level – possibly the highest level of all.

"I wouldn't mind going to Washington," Marty mused. "Could be kind of cool."

Back in England, Callen wondered if his hearing had suddenly gone. "Are you suffering from the delayed effects of concussion, Deeks? Or had cutting your hair deprived you of what little sanity you had? Do you honestly think Hetty would send you as the NCIS representative to brief the President? Or is it just let lag?"

"Jet lag? Why would I have jet lag, Callen? I had a very relaxing journey home. But then, I wasn't flying commercial. Mind you don't end up flushing the toilet by mistake, by the way." He sounded very smug.

"You did it, didn't you? You and Kensi – on that private jet?" _You lucky bastard. And here I am, stuck flying commercial again, with not a chance of any extra-curricular activity. Unless Nico can manage to get us bumped up to first class? The toilets are bigger there._

"A gentleman never kisses and tells, Callen."

"You're no gentleman."

"True enough. But I'm still not telling. Not with certain people around."

"Like Hetty? Hey, Hetty's had sex, Deeks. She might even have joined the mile-high club."

"Unlike you." _Eeeuuucchhh. Thinking about Hetty having sex is even worse than realising your parents have had sex. It's almost enough to put you off ever having sex again. Almost, but not quite._

"At the moment."

"Face it, you're developmentally delayed, Callen. It'll come to you one day, I promise. But just remember what I said about the toilet flush." Finishing the call, Marty realised that three pairs of eyes were staring at him. "Callen had a little problem on the flight over to Britain," he extemporised. "Ended up soaking his pants." While that satisfied the two older women, Kensi just shook her head sadly.

"What was that about Washington?" Hetty asked.

"Callen reckons EJ's sudden collapse might be a pre-programmed response – a sort of failsafe built into Operation Frankenstein. He's not said anything to the Brits yet, as he reckons it would need clearance – possibly from the Big Man himself."

"And you thought you might be the man to deliver the briefing?" She looked at him curiously. "How very interesting. Does that mean you want to finally sign those papers and join NCIS officially?"

_Damn the woman – she's boxed me into another corner. Mind you, I kind of walked into it._ "Not exactly. Maybe."

"Don't commit yourself to anything you might regret, Marty." Caroline leapt seamlessly into her "sabre-toothed tiger protecting her young" mode. Kensi could almost see the snarl in the look she gave Hetty. "You just take your time and consider all your options."

"You know where I am, any time you want to talk about it. It's your choice – but you know you are an integral part of this team, under whatever nomenclature. To sign would only be formalising the arrangement."

Which of course, he already knew. It had taken a long time, but at last Marty felt that he belonged, that he was accepted. He felt part of the team in a way that he had never felt a part of LAPD. The crucial difference was that he trusted these people, knew that they would put their lives on the line for him and also knew that he would do the same without thinking. And while he'd loved being a cop, exactly what was holding him back from joining NCIS on a permanent basis? Apart from the fact that it what everyone expected him to do and Marty still had enough of the rebel who loved kicking against the traces to make him hesitate.

"I am thinking it over seriously. It's just… there's a whole lot to think about." _Eloquent as ever. Talk about being graceless under pressure._

"Whenever you want to talk, I'll be ready to listen."

Kensi sat quietly, watching the two of them, watching Marty clearly struggling with the decision – or lack of decision. Sometimes she wanted to smack some sense into him. Why couldn't he see this for the amazing offer it was and grab it with both hands? Did he have any idea of what an honour Hetty was offering him, all neatly gift-wrapped and handed over on a shiny gold platter? Couldn't he see that other people would give their eye teeth to be offered what he was so casually pushed to one side? Why on God's green earth couldn't Marty just damned well commit to this? She made a mental note to have a long and very serious conversation with him later on. But not tonight, because she was so tired she could hardly think straight any longer. Being a believer in the power of positive thinking, Kensi sat and imagined Hetty and Caroline getting up and going home and leaving her in peace to collapse into bed. Eventually, they did just that and it was a relief to turn the key in the door, set the alarm system and go upstairs.

The bed had never looked better, covers pulled back and smooth white sheets glinting invitingly in the dim moonlight. The window was slightly open and the fresh scent of the ocean cast a faint perfume around the room. By mutual consent, they simply pulled their clothes off and left them where they lay, longing just for the sweet oblivion of sleep, nothing more and nothing less. Kensi gave a sigh of deep and utter contentment as her head settled onto the pillow and Marty dropped a kiss onto her bare shoulder. She wriggled over, so that her butt was nestling against his stomach and felt the familiar warmth of the arm he draped casually over her hip. They were home and for a few hours nothing could touch them. There was a smile on her face as she drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	30. Chapter 30

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty**

_Evil plot bunny is in a foul mood and is threatening all sorts of awful fates for the team. He says he'll be nice if I give him an ice-cream. Yeah, right. Bread and water is too good for him, making poor Sam suffer like that. July is a complete wash-out here, and he is now paddling around in the garden, complaining loudly. So goodness knows what he'll do next._

* * *

><p>Less than an hour later, Kensi was abruptly woken by a familiar anguished shouting, as Marty thrashed wildly about the bed, deeply asleep and in the throes of one of the nightmares that periodically plagued him. He hadn't had one for a while and she had begun to hope they were a thing of the past, but clearly she had been wrong, for here they were, back again and worse than ever. For once, she could actually make out what he was saying, no, make that yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, with terror evident in every single syllable.<p>

"I'm not Max Gentry! I'm Marty… no, I'm Mikey." There was a long pause as Marty thrashed about desperately before screaming out "Who the hell am I?" in tones that were so utterly anguished that Kensi thought her heart would break.

"You're Marty and you're here with me. You're safe." Kneeling, she held gently onto his arms, seeing the terror in his face, the way sweat was beading his brow. God, she hated these white nights, when he was caught in the faceless terrors of sleep. All the things Marty kept hidden away, all the demons that prodded his soul were given free rein in his nightmares.

"I'm not Max?" Marty's eyes were open, but Kensi knew he was asleep. A deep series of tremors rippled through his body, setting every muscle moving under the skin, like a snake shedding its skin as he strove to expel the devils that tormented him. "Not Max?" he repeated plaintively, as if seeking penance, and Kensi felt tears start in her eyes.

"You're not Max. You're Marty." She kept soothing him, speaking quietly in low, comforting tones, trying to reassure him, when in actual fact she felt as scared as hell. Eventually after what seemed like far too long and probably was. Marty started to calm down and the nightmare seemed to recede. Kensi stayed holding onto him, almost scared to let him go until his breathing became deep and regular and his face had relaxed from the grimace that had scared her half to death. If that was what the nightmare looked like from the outside, she could not even begin to think of what it must be like to have your mind trapped in its invidious coils, to feel them tightening around you with no realistic prospect of escape. "Those smothering dreams", that was how Marty had once referred to them. By that time Marty was sleeping quietly, Kensi was wide awake and sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. In the next few days, Marty was going to have to face his biggest nightmare head-on – he was going to have to become Max Gentry yet again, and he was going to have to do it alone. The next time he had a white night, there wouldn't be anyone to comfort him, she thought and the tears sprang forth again, trickling down her cheek and lying in a salty pool on the pillow. That was almost the worst thing about this whole shitty business, Kensi thought. So she might as well get used to doing without sleep, because she sure as hell wasn't going to get much until this whole fucking awful mess was over and done with. Lying gently down beside him, she wrapped her arms around Marty, who instinctively snuggled in a little closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck, like a small child craving comfort.

"You're not Max," she repeated. "You're Marty and I love you." And then she dropped a kiss on top of his head and stared bleakly out into the night. NCIS might have brought them together, but there were times when she felt that it just might pull them apart. Presuming Marty managed to survive that long. "You're my someone," Kensi murmured, careful not to disturb him, "And I need you."

* * *

><p>"Gibbs." He stuck out his hand and Deeks surveyed the "living legend" he heard so much about: tall, greying hair and a piercing gaze that didn't look as if anything would get past him. That was fine, he had no problem with people who spoke their minds. In fact, it was a distinct advantage as far as Deeks was concerned. Better the devil you knew and all that. This wasn't a popularity contest after all and he didn't care if people didn't like him, as long as they acknowledged he did a good job.<p>

"Marty Deeks. LAPD liaison." He would have continued, but Gibbs cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I know." It was impossible to tell if what Gibbs knew was good, bad or indifferent: the man's face was as inscrutable as the Sphinx. "Didn't you used to surf out of Zuma a while back?"

_Wow, that came out of left field_. "I've surfed there," Deeks admitted. "Still do, from time to time. Good waves."

Gibbs made a strange sort of grunting sound, that could have approval. Then again, it could as easily have been disdain. "Nasty rip-tide though. I thought I'd seen you there. You're not bad, but you take too many risks. Don't. It's not worth it." It was not immediately apparent if he was talking about surfing or Deeks' attitude to life in general.

"You surf boss?" DiNozzo looked nonplussed. "I never knew you surfed." He gave Deeks a hard look.

"The sum total of what you don't know, DiNozzo, never ceases to amaze me." It was said completely without rancour and Deeks noticed that it seemed to wash over DiNozzo. Gibbs turned his attention to Kensi. "I knew your father, Agent Blye. He was a fine man. We were stationed together at Pendleton for a time. My condolences."

"Thank you, sir." Kensi automatically slipped back into the jargon of her childhood, when politeness was not a courtesy, it was insisted upon in the Blye household. She had been a Marine brat and that stayed with you, like it or not. Mostly, Kensi liked it, but there were times when she wished she had had a more normal childhood. Moving around every couple of years meant it had been difficult to make friends and even as an adult she knew that she held herself slightly aloof, was too guarded around others. Kensi had heard another female agent describe her as a man's woman, and that had hurt. The fact that it might be true hurt even more.

"Call me Gibbs. Did you ever surf when you were there?" The surf at Pendleton was legendary, not least because there was a 20 mile stretch of coastline with restricted, Marine-only access. It was one of the most exclusive surfing beaches in the world.

"No, si… Gibbs. I never learned." _Back when I was a kid, I had enough trouble not falling over my own feet. I'd never have managed to stay on a board, far less stand up on one. And I'm still not sure I could, which is why I keep putting it off, even though I know Marty is longing to teach me. Why can't I accept that there are some things I might not be good at, but which might actually be fun? Why do I have to be so damned competitive all the time? Even with my lover._

"I'm trying to persuade her to come out with me. How about we give it a shot next time we visit your Mom, Kensi?"_ It might actually make going to see the old hag a pleasure, rather than purgatory._ Deeks had been longing to surf there ever since he was a kid on a boogie board, but somehow, even the lure of the waves wasn't enough to reconcile him to the prospect of a Marine buzz-cut. But if they could manage to go semi-officially, that would be awesome. "Maybe we could meet up there, Gibbs?"

"Maybe." Gibbs actually cracked a smile and managed to look semi-human in the process. Deeks had this sudden flash-back to _Apocalyse Now_, imagining Gibbs surfing through the chaos on one of those big old longboards. From what he had heard of the man, he wouldn't put it past him. Now that he came to think of it, surfing with Gibbs might actually be kind of cool.


	31. Chapter 31

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-one**

"It's probably time I learned to surf," Kensi found herself saying, which shocked Deeks to the core: for as long as he'd known her, Kensi had actively resisted each and every suggestion he'd made about learning to surf, even if she did enjoy the peripheral pleasures, such as unpeeling his wetsuit off him and admiring the way his butt looked cased in neoprene. "How difficult can it be, after all?"

Gibbs gave her what could only be described as a condescending smile. "Start her off in the shallows," he advised. "And keep hold of her hand. She's going to need all the help she can get." In that instant, Kensi vowed to be the best surfer she possibly could be, as much to show Gibbs he was wrong as anything else. She was convinced they were making a big fuss over nothing. All you had to do was stand on a board and let the wave take you into the shore. Trust men to make things sound more difficult than they actually were.

"Maybe if we get this case wrapped up we could catch a few waves before you go back to Washington?" It had been a long time since Deeks had surfed with a buddy and he missed the camaraderie.

"I'd like that." DiNozzo looked utterly dumbfounded. Gibbs admitting to have an activity other than building boats in his basement and, what was more, actually wanting to share it with someone? This was unheard of. There must be something in the water, or the air conditioning, or maybe the strain was finally getting to him? "But aren't you going undercover again?"

"Yeah. That's right. Just as soon as we can get things set up." Hetty was working on reactivating his old ID documents and getting him somewhere to crash, along with transportation. At least this time he had the reassurance of knowing a proper job would be done with all the background arangements, unlike the half-assed job LAPD had done in the past. Christ, they had basically hung his butt out to dry on at least half a dozen occasions. Deeks knew he could be a smart-mouthed pain in the ass at time, but surely they could have made a bit more of an effort?

"It sounds like a long-shot." DiNozzo was still smarting over the bond Gibbs seemed to have formed with the detective. "You don't even know if there is any connection between EJ and Sam's abduction."

"Sure, it's a long shot, but it's the only lead we've got at the moment. Unless you've got any other ideas? I'm not doing this for the good of my health, you know. We're kind of short-staffed around here, so I'm not even going to have any back-up."

"Sure you are." Gibbs showed his teeth in a feral smile. "DiNozzo's got nothing better to do, have you?"

"We're sticking around, boss?"

"Sounds that way, doesn't it? Any objections?"

"None at all." Why would he possibly object to spending a bit more time in California, working so close to the beach you could practically smell the suntan cream? And where there was sun, sand and sea, it followed that there would be girls. It was only by exercising all his restraint that DiNozzo didn't rub his hands with glee. He took another covert look at Deeks: yup, stereotypical Californian surfer dude. He probably had the girls falling over him in droves. Maybe there was something in that whole surfing business after all? DiNozzo decided to get Kensi to one side and suggest they took some lessons together. She was sort of like a more-feminine, less-scary Ziva. And without the added complication of a father so crooked and devious he made Richard Nixon look as pure as the driven snow. "So when is this undercover gig starting?"

"In a couple of days. We've got Crosby's birthday party tomorrow. Sam's kid," he amplified, seeing the bemused looks from the two Washington agents. "He's going to be eight and seeing Sam isn't around right now…"

"Good idea. What are you getting him?" Gibbs asked.

"Kensi and I are getting him a boogie board. I promised I'd teach him how to surf."

Gibbs pulled out his wallet and peeled off a couple of notes. "Put this towards a wetsuit for him. DiNozzo?"

"Yes boss?"

Gibbs gestured meaningfully at the money. Another couple of notes were added to the pile, albeit somewhat reluctantly. "Tell me about the party."

Deeks couldn't quite work out why Gibbs was so interested in a child's party, or indeed why everyone had suggested the man was a cold-hearted S.O.B. when he actually seemed remarkably human and even quite cool, but he obliged and reeled off the basic facts.

"Sounds like you could do with a few more hands to make sure World War Three doesn't erupt. I'm sure DiNozzo would oblige." Gibbs made it sound like a direct order.

"Why me?" DiNozzo was pretty sure he'd never given any indication that children were his thing. Not until they were 18, pretty and female anyway.

"You did study sports, didn't you? Seems to me you're ideal for the job."

Washington sounded damned good right now, DiNozzo thought. Who cared about the beach and the babes anyway?

* * *

><p>Sam woke up with a start to discover his wrists were no longer bound; instead one hand was free, while the other was tethered to an iron ring set into the floor. God, he must have been exhausted and practically unconscious not to notice that happening. His shoulders were so sore they felt as if he'd been stretched on the rack, and the muscles in his back were little better, but at least he now had some movement. And that was a positive thing. You had to concentrate on the positive things if you wanted to stay sane. Even better was the bottle of water and the bucket set in the corner. First things first – he could pee anytime, but Sam knew that he needed to get some fluids inside him before his body started to shut down. He was so thirsty that he could have drunk the whole bottle without thinking twice about it, but that would probably send him into shock and screw up his system worse than mere dehydration, so he took a couple of mouthfuls and then forced himself to screw the lid back on and wait. Sure, there was a chance that the water was drugged, or even poisoned, but Sam didn't care. By now the urge to pee was overwhelming and his bladder felt as if it was about to explode. This time around, when Denise complained about the baby dancing on her bladder, he'd be a damn sight more sympathetic.<p>

He drank a bit more and then sat leaning against the wall. In a while, he'd do some exercises, in an attempt not only to keep in shape, but to stave off the boredom. But right now, Sam wanted to dream about his family, because they were the reason he needed to keep on going.


	32. Chapter 32

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-two**

"I can't thank you enough for doing all this. Crosby's having the time of his life." Denise smiled as she watched her son and his friends tearing around the garden in hot pursuit of Callen, who was decidedly red in the face. The children, on the other hand seemed full of boundless energy.

"It's nothing." Deeks dismissed her thanks with a casual wave of his hand. "Our pleasure. Besides, Caroline and Hetty did most of the organising." He was lying on the grass, in an attitude suggestive of extreme exhaustion, his head in Kensi's lap. An hour of supervising the boys and he was officially beat.

"He just handed across his credit cards. Being inherently lazy." Kensi finished the daisy chain she'd been making and put it on his head. "Suits you."

"You just paid for everything, right?" Denise prodded him with her foot. "Marty? You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. Really."

He turned his head and smiled at her, the daisy chain falling down over one eye. "It was no trouble. Like I said – it was my pleasure. Crosby's a great kid and I'd do pretty much anything for Sam. Just don't tell him that, alright? He regretted the words the instant they left his lips, seeing Denise's eyes clouded over. "God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Scrambling to his feet, Deeks went over to her chair and gave her a hug.

"No, don't be sorry." Denise relished the feel of strong arms around her, even if they weren't Sam's arms. "Everyone has been carefully avoiding mentioning Sam all day. It's a relief to hear his name spoken. Because he should be here. We shouldn't pretend otherwise. Sam should be here."

"We'll bring him back. I promise you." Kensi just wished there was something more she could say or do. It felt so wrong, being so helpless, not able to do anything. And tomorrow, when Marty went undercover, she knew that she was going to feel even worse, as if a limb had been cut off.

"I know you will." Denise trusted them – but she noticed how carefully worded the promise had been. Kensi had not said that Sam would be alright, or even that he would be alive. In the end, all that was certain was that at some point Denise would receive his body, whether or not he was still living. "Thanks for coming over yesterday, by the way."

"Any time you need me – or any of us – just call." They'd spoken about the pregnancy and Denise had clung onto Kensi and wept, while Deeks had taken Crosby out for ice cream and fended off awkward questions about where Sam was.

"You reckon I should take over from Callen before he runs himself into a heart-attack?" Gibbs strolled over to join them. "Good party by the way, Deeks." He gestured with the bottle of Mexican beer.

"Callen tipped me the nod on that. And yes, you probably should take over – he's not getting any younger."

"None of us are." Gibbs nodded at Denise. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle that instantly caught the attention of ten small boys and one even smaller dog, all of whom came racing over.

"Stand to attention." Fascinated, the children obeyed him. "Sloppy, very sloppy. Drop and give me ten."

The boys nudged one another furtively. "Ten what?" Crosby asked.

"Ten press-ups. What – you don't you know how to do press-ups? Alright, my assistant here will demonstrate. DiNozzo?"

With a martyred sigh, DiNozzo wandered over, pulled off his jacket and dropped onto the grass.

"It's like watching a trained dog, isn't it?" Deeks commented.

"Hetty looks better by the second," Kensi observed.

"Huh." Callen flung himself into a deckchair. "Just wait till she challenges to you a race up that damned climbing wall. The woman's like some sort of ninja spider."

"Gibbs surfs. End of story."

"How do you know Hetty doesn't surf too?" Kensi asked curiously.

Deeks and Callen exchanged looks. "Don't even suggest it to her. Ever."

* * *

><p>"You are sure you want to do this?" Kensi sat on the end of the bed and watched as Marty pulled on the biker boots that were the finishing element of his transformation into Max, or <em>persona non gentry<em> as he was now being referred to, only half in jest.

"No, I'm not." He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, obscuring his parting with his fingers and brushing his hair forward slightly. "But I've got to. For Sam."

"Yes, for Sam," she echoed sadly. "You will be careful, won't you?"

"I'll be careful." Marty looked at himself again and adjusted his stance slightly, holding his head so that his chin jutted out. The relaxed atmosphere of the party seemed a thousand years ago. Standing here in Max's boots, wearing Max's clothes, he could feel Max seeping into him, gradually taking over. "Listen, I've got to go." He brushed his lips against her cheek.

"I love you." Kensi sat motionless, watching him go towards the door, knowing he had to do this and, which was worse, she had to let him. It was like watching a stranger inside Marty's skin. It was as if she had already lost him.

Marty paused in the doorway and saw the dejected droop of her shoulders, the way she tried to give him a brave smile, only it wobbled precariously on her face. Oh God, her face. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to imprint it on his memory. And then he raced forward and cupped her face in his hands and kissed her as if the world was about to end. "Never forget how much I love you. Never." And then he had to force himself to turn around and walk out of the room without looking back, because if he had hesitated for one moment, Marty knew he would never have left, that he would have burnt Max's clothes and stood under the shower for an hour to rid himself of the foul stench of his acid personality. But somewhere out there, Sam was waiting and, God help him, Max Gentry was his only hope of salvation.


	33. Chapter 33

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-three**

Kensi ran to the front of the house and stood watching Marty ride down the driveway on an old Indian motorbike. Everything about Max seemed to be dark – from the biker boots right up to the black leather jacket. Even his underwear was dark – black briefs instead of the boxers she associated with Marty. A cold shudder ran down her spine, as if a goose was walking over her grave. With a shock Kensi realised that she didn't just dislike Max, she actively disliked him. And, more than that, she was scared of him, scared of what he might do – to other people, and to Marty. And yet Max didn't exist, he was just someone Marty had made up, had dredged out of the darkest corners of his personality. But even having Max around would be better than this awful vacuum.

"Get over it, Blye," she muttered to herself. "Get your butt into gear and get to work. Keep yourself busy." Her hand went up to her neck and she fingered the holy medal anxiously. Last night, Marty had fastened it around her neck, explaining that Max would never wear such a thing. Although it was a source of comfort to her, it also worried Kensi that he was without it, because surely now, more than ever, Marty needed all the help he could get?

* * *

><p>The sunlight was streaming directly into Sam's eyes the next time he woke up and it took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his prison. "Shit! You frightened the hell out of me."<p>

Nicole sat cross-legged in a corner, watching him carefully. "That's not a very nice thing to say. Not when I brought you food and water."

"Kidnapping someone and holding them against their will isn't very nice either." Sam noticed how strange his voice sounded after a few days of silence. And even having a conversation with his jailor was better than the awful silence of being alone, with only the howls of the coyotes for company.

"I didn't really have any choice." Nicole brought up her knees and hugged them tightly. "It was the only way I could think of getting Max back. I love him, you see. Everything was working out perfectly. That stupid, cheap bitch deliberately got pregnant so that Ray would leave me, and at first I felt terrible, like my life was over, but then I realised that it was meant. It was like a gift. This way, Max and I could be together."

"He's not Max. You know that," Sam said reasonably, pulling the water and the box of energy bars over towards him. "He told you he was a police officer." He resisted the temptation to tear open the wrappers and stuff a couple of bars down his throat, followed by a deep draught of water, not wanting to show her how desperate he was for food and drink. You never showed weakness to your captor. That was a basic rule. He just had to play this out for as long as possible and try to work out what the hell was going on inside her head.

"Max says a lot of things that aren't true. It doesn't matter anyway. At first, I thought it would be easier just to get Ray killed,because of how he betrayed me. I know a lot of people you, know? A lot of very useful people and raymade himself a lot of enemies who were only too happy to help me. And even thought that didn't work out, it brought Max back into my life. And I knew I couldn't live without him."

Sam thought back to Deeks sitting in the beautiful drawing room in Edinburgh and being so certain about Nicole, so utterly trusting in her innate decency and he wondered if the man had just been blinded by love, or if she really had changed. Because he had no doubt at all that this woman beside him was seriously deranged.

"What are you going to do? I mean, nobody's found me so far – so how is Max going to?"

Nicole smiled deviously. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm his friend. Do you really think he's going to be happy about what you've done to me? You know how volatile Max can be. I bet he'll smack you into the middle of next week." _And if he doesn't, I damned well will. And I'll let Kensi take the next shot._

"You don't know anything!" Nicole screamed, spittle spraying out of her mouth. "Max loves me! He'll do anything for me."

"I don't think so. Why else would Max go to all the trouble to make it look like Ray was killed and then make sure that he and his lady got clean away. Just think about it -they're living new lives, they're happy and you're stuck here, with your delusions. You don't even know Max's real name or anything about him. You don't know a single thing about him that isn't a lie."

"Shut up!" Nicole jumped to her feet and aimed a kick at his ribs. Unable to dodge out of the way, unable to defend himself, Sam was pretty sure she'd cracked a rib.

"He doesn't want you, Nicole. Face facts. If he'd wanted you – why didn't he come for you? He only got in touch with you in the first place, because he wanted to help Ray. If it wasn't for Ray, you'd never have seen Max again. That's not love – that's a fantasy."

"I'll show you. Just you wait. I'll bring Max here and you can hear it for yourself. Just you wait." The door slammed behind her and Sam could hear a key turning, followed by the sound of bolts being thrust home.

_I'm not sure if I've just made things better or worse. Deeks – if you're out there, you be careful. You just watch your back. _

* * *

><p>Caroline took one look at Kensi's face and pulled her into the kitchen. "You sit down right there. You're not going anywhere until you've got a decent breakfast inside you."<p>

"I'm not really hungry." Kensi didn't feel like she could eat a single mouthful. The mere idea of food made her nauseous.

"That's not the point, young lady, as well you know. Starving yourself isn't going to achieve anything."

Despite herself, Kensi smiled. "You sound like my Mom."

"So, where's he off to this time? I am right, aren't I? Marty's gone off on one of those undercover missions and you're worried about him?"

"I'm more than worried. I'm petrified. He's had to use this old alias, and it scares the living daylights out of him." _And let's not even get started on what it's doing to me._

"You're talking about Max, aren't you?" Caroline shook her head. "I hoped I'd never hear that name again. I blame Ray Martindale. I knew that boy was trouble the first time Chris brought him home."

"He was Chris's friend?" Kensi had heard only occasional references to Marty's elder brother, who had died out in Iraq, although he'd clearly adored him.

"Oh yes. Ray's at least 8 years older than Marty, but you know what little boys are like – they always want to tag along with the big boys, and Ray was actually quite tolerant. More so than Chris, to be honest with you."

"Ray lived here in Malibu?" Kensi had never quite worked out how the rough and ready Ray fitted in to the moneyed lifestyle of the Brandel family.

"For a while. His father was groundsman for a family who lived a few houses along. He and Chris met when they were both out riding their bikes one and stuck up an instant friendship. His parent's weren't particularly happy about it, but what could the do? You can't interfere in your children's friendships. Plus, it was shortly after Chris and Ray met that Marty was abducted, so they were pre-occupied and half out of their heads with worry. And, after that, if there was trouble, you could be pretty sure those boys were involved. We had the police calling more than a few times and Jack – Mikey and Chris's father – read him the riot act after the accident. After that, the friendship seemed to cool off for a bit. But then they got back together and were as thick as thieves until Chris went off to college."

"The accident?" Kensi immediately wondered if she was talking about the gun Ray had procured for Marty, the gun he had used to shoot his father.

"Ray let Mikey play in a game of touch football. The child was only seven and the other boys were twice his size and twice his age. It was a recipe for disaster. He ended up with a broken leg and Jack just about hit the roof."

"But it was an accident," Kensi protested. "I'm sure none of them thought he'd get hurt." She remembered Marty telling her how he'd been on crutches a few times before.

Caroline looked at her curiously. "You're an only child, aren't you?"

"What has that got to do with it?"

"Just about everything. In families, the older child looks after the younger one – looks out for them. They protect them basically, when their parents aren't around. Chris didn't. In fact, he did the reverse. Just wait until you have children of your own – you'll see what I mean. Not that Chris was a cruel boy, or even a bad boy, because he wasn't. But there was such a big age gap between them, things were difficult. And maybe Ray encouraged Marty tagging along, because Chris was always very bright, and Ray certainly wasn't. And Marty just adored him – he ran around after Ray like he was his little shadow."

It was all starting to make sense to Kensi now – Marty still saw Ray as the "big boy": the one who indulged him when his brother was being mean; the one who had given him the gun. Ray had continued to mess up his life, time after time and once again his influence was putting Marty in danger. There was such a thing as being too loyal, Kensi thought.


	34. Chapter 34

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-four**

For a while, Deeks rode aimlessly around on the bike, trying to get his head back into the rhythm of being Max, with all his restlessness and unrestrained violence. Max was like his dark side – the opportunity to give free rein to all the things he would normally suppress. Eventually, he pulled into an alley at the side of the sort of seedy bar Max frequented. There was no way he could put things off any longer.

"You got my location, DiNozzo?"

"Yup. Slumming it, are we?" Sitting outside in the car, he made sure all the windows were rolled up tightly and the central locking engaged. This was not a part of town you took any risks in. In fact, DiNozzo was distinctly uncomfortable that Deeks was doing this as a solo mission. It was like the guy had some crazy sort of death wish. Watching as Deeks sauntered into the bar, DiNozzo was reminded of Gary Cooper in High Noon. And while he loved the film, that was not the sort of image that sat easily. Making his mind up in an instant, he grabbed his cell.

"Boss? I think we might have a problem."

Back at the Mission, Gibbs listened intently. Tony DiNozzo might be a lot of things, but it was easy to forget that under the exterior was a good agent, maybe one of the best he'd ever worked with. Not that he would ever tell the younger man that, of course, because DiNozzo already had a big enough head. But when DiNozzo spoke like this, then Gibbs listened. And then he acted.

"You stay put. I'll be with you as soon as possible. And, Tony?"

"Yes?"

"Good call." Gibbs snapped his cell-phone shut. "Hetty – we need to talk. Your boy's in over his head. You know that, right?"

"Mr Deeks is a very competent agent."

"He's not an agent, Hetty."

"Are you splitting hairs with me, Jethro? Did you differentiate between Ziva David and the rest of your team? I think not. In fact, you put her in more dangerous situations than Mr McGee. And she was a liaison officer, just like Mr Deeks."

"She was also a Mossad agent, Hetty." Gibbs force himself not to swear and managed this only with the greatest amount of self-restraint. "You of all people should know what that means."

She gave him an evil look. That period of her life was something Hetty preferred not to talk about, as well he knew. "Mr Deeks can look after himself. He's done this many times before."

Callen edged a little closer, trying to be as unobtrusive as he could. He could hear the apprehension in her voice, a fear that was shared by the whole of the team, including Deeks.

"I'm trying to make sure he stays alive. DiNozzo reckons he needs a proper back-up, someone in there with him."

"Mr DiNozzo has been in LA for four days. That hardly gives him extensive local knowledge." The strain was beginning to tell.

Gibbs slammed his hand down on the desk and glared at her. "Hetty – I know you're short-staffed. You know you're short staffed. Why else do you think we stayed here? I'm offering to help. DiNozzo's got form in this sort of operation. For God's sake, use him. Or at least for Deeks' sake,if nothing else."

"Take the offer and run with it," Callen said. "We've no idea what we're up against here."

"I know when I'm beaten." Despite herself, Hetty was relieved. It was rather nice to have a man being masterful with her. As long as Gibbs never did it again.

"You've got to learn to give in gracefully," Gibbs advised. "Accept help when it's offered."

Hetty nearly choked at the irony of that.

* * *

><p>Deeks took another sip of the cheap whiskey and felt it burn all the way down his throat. This bar was even seedier than the last time he'd been here, if that was possible. At least the alcohol should kill any germs lurking in the smeary glass. He'd been here for nearly thirty minutes, and if no-one made a move in the next ten, he'd move on to the next down-town dive.<p>

"Max! Look what the cat dragged in." DiNozzo swaggered in, flaunting a muscle-shirt and looking distinctly different from his normally well-groomed self. Almost unrecognisable, in fact. He pulled up a stool and signalled to the barman. "Get him another one. And I'll have the same."

"Friend of yours?" While happy enough to take the money DiNozzo handed across, the man was automatically suspicious of any strange faces. This establishment wasn't exactly on the tourist trail after all.

"More of an acquaintance."

"Hey, I haven't forgotten about that money I owe you. I've got it, Max – and I've got some news that you're going to be real interested in."

Deeks had no idea what DiNozzo was on about, but he figured he might as well just run with it. "The whole five grand?"

"Plus interest."

"And you've got a proposition?"

"Easiest money you'll ever make," DiNozzo promised.

"We could talk. After I've got my money." He swallowed the last of the whiskey, wishing he could just spit the stuff out and walked out of the bar, DiNozzo following quickly. The moment the door closed behind them, the barman picked up his cell.

"You wanted to know if I saw Gentry? Well, he was just here."

It had started. The clock was ticking.


	35. Chapter 35

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-five**

_sorry for the long gap in updating. I've put up a nice long installment in mitigation. But things are starting to get rather dark for Deeks right now. he's been forced to go somewhere he really doesn't want to go..._

* * *

><p>They hit another couple of scummy bars without any noticeable success – it seemed as if all Max Gentry's former acquaintances were either behind bars, dead or playing possum. By this stage Deeks felt that just the smell of another shot of cheap whiskey would make him throw up. This one was particularly bad, and seemed to attract the dregs of humanity. He and DiNozzo were just about the only customers who were not sporting facial tattoos andor piercings.

"I've had it." He kicked the bar stool, adding another dent to its already scarred battle-history and loosening one of the legs. "I'm out of here." Sometimes it was a relief to be Max – if you didn't like something, then you didn't have to even bother pretending – you could just lash out, kick the shit out of something or someone and nobody blinked an eye – unless you'd gouged it out.. There was none of this delicate dancing around, having to be careful of other people's feelings – you just said what you thought, and if they didn't like it well that was your problem. It was liberating, not to have to bother with the normal rules of society – for all of ten minutes. Max ruled by fear and fear alone. He was powerful because people were scared of him. But there would come a time when the tide began to turn against Max, as it always did. For himself, Deeks just hoped that he could start running away from Max when the tide started to swoop in towards him and that he didn't get stuck, right up to his neck in things. The brief moments of joy and freedom he experienced as Max were counterbalanced by the deep shame he felt. And as long as he kept feeling that disgust at himself, then maybe he'd be alright, maybe he wouldn't sell his soul. Then again, it was easy to get dragged down. Each of the people in here had once been a wide-eyed baby, full of hope and promise – and look where it had lead them. Everyone started off fresh and clean – they just became soiled with life and could never wash themselves clean.

DiNozzo knocked back the remainder of his drink as Deeks stormed off, pushing a junkie out of the way and nearly sending him flying in the process, and eyeballed the woman behind the bar. She might once have been presentable – but that was a long time ago. Now she was looked like she could take on the arm wrestlers over in the corner without blinking an eye, and probably beat them without breaking sweat. "We were never here," he said, with a feral leer.

"Who are you exactly?" She was gutsy, he had to give her that much.

"Me – I'm nobody. But he's Max Gentry. Mad Max, you know?"

"He sure ain't no Mel Gibson, sugar." She cackled delightedly at her own ready wit and DiNozzo gave it up as bad job and trailed out into the street, where Deeks sat revving the motorbike impatiently.

"You coming?" He threw the older man a challenging look.

"Where else would I possible want to go?" Throwing one leg over the back of the bike, DiNozzo settled himself behind Deeks and pulled on a helmet. _Apart from just about anywhere, other than the seedy dive you've no doubt got lined up for us to crash in tonight. Max doesn't look like he'd be bothered about where he'd lay his head, but I guess I'll have to go along with it. Just as long as there aren't any cockroaches, 'cos I definitely draw the line there. Or rats. Can't stand them either. This is another fine mess you've got me into, boss._

The moment the bike roared off, another call was placed. "Max is back. And he's looking awful mean."

"Did he say anything?"

"No. Just sat for a while and drank some. Got some new mate with him – older guy."

"Is he still there?"

"Just drove off on his bike."

"Let me know if you see him again. Call me at once." Nicole closed the phone and hugged herself triumphantly. Her plan was coming together beautifully. All those years with Ray, they hadn't been such a complete waste of time after all, because she'd made some really useful contacts. His old network of hangers on, associates – call them what you will – had turned against Ray the moment he broke the unwritten code and testified. Ray was a snitch, pure and simple and he'd made himself fair game. All bets were off the moment he turned against his own. But Nicole – she was the betrayed wife, dumped for another woman. Nicole was accepted and when she asked for help in her quest for revenge, Ray's old friends were only too happy help. And now Max was getting closer, she could feel it. And when he saw her, she knew he would never leave her again. She'd make sure of that. Nicole had been planning this a long time.

"What the hell did that guy Max ever do to you?" The barkeeper couldn't help overhearing the conversation. She was new here, and the name Max Gentry meant nothing to her. Ten years in solitary tended to distance you from the world.

"Max? He never done nothing to me. I'm just doing Nicole a favour."

"Her? She's as nutty as a bag of squirrels. What does she want with him?"

The man smirked. "She just wants him, pure and simple. No, scratch the pure. Aint nothing pure about what Nicole wants with Max – more like down and dirty."

"What if this Max isn't interested?"

"Not interested in staying alive? Nicole's not exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment – not since Max left the last time and then Ray cheated on her. Once she gets Max, she's not going to let him go." He took a long pull of beer. "You ever see that film _Psycho_?"

"Who hasn't? You reckon she'll stab him in the shower then?"

"Naw, that'd just be stupid. Do you have any idea how much mess that makes? No, my reckoning is that if he makes one wrong move, then in about ten years' time they'll find Maxie-boy's skeleton sitting in a rocking chair in Nicole's basement. If she can't have him, she won't want anybody else have him either."

Just then, a fight broke out and by the time the barkeeper had knocked a few head together , chucked the debris chucked out into the alley and mopped up the worst of the blood, Max Gentry, Nicole Martindale and their squalid reputations were completely forgotten.

"It could be worse. I suppose. We could be in the Gaza Strip." DiNozzo looked around the small apartment disdainfully and tried not to wrinkle his nose up when he inspected the bathroom.

"Wait till night," Deeks advised. "This neighbourhood can make Helmand Province look tame." He bounced on the bed experimentally. "I've stayed in worse places." He flopped back and stared up at the ceiling, complete with old water stains. At least the leak appeared to have been mended.

"You were a cop, weren't you?" DiNozzo recognised the resignation – that got drummed into you pretty damned quickly on the job: somethings you can't change, you just accept them, or you'll go crazy.

"Still am. Kind of. Sort of permanent loan to NCIS."

"You ever think of going back?" DiNozzo sat down on the settee and found that while it wasn't quite as uncomfortable as it looked, that wasn't saying much.

"Sometimes," Deeks admitted. "When things are particularly shitty."

"Like now?"

"Pretty much." He let one arm fall across his eyes. "But if I resign from LAPD, it's like admitting I was wrong."

"And if you don't join NCIS - it's the same? Catch Twenty Two."

"Yeah. Good book, bad film. You were a cop too?"

"Baltimore PD. I don't quite fit the mould Vance was trying to promote – I'm not ex-service and I don't have a fancy degree in computing. It's like I'm out on a limb right now."

"I never could have hacked it in the military. The marine buzz cut is a serious problem for a start."

"Try telling my boss that is the worst haircut in the world, bar none and he'll just give you that fish-eye stare."

Deeks sighed. "I guess I've got a bit of a problem with authority and people telling me what to do." He'd heard a lot of stories about DiNozzo, but none of them had prepared him for actually liking the man.

"Exactly. All that "_hoo rah_" and "_semper fi – do or die_" leaves me cold." DiNozzo studied the ceiling for a moment, but quickly became bored. "If we're stuck here tonight, what do you say to beer and pizza?"

Deeks sat up and grinned at him. "I'd say how about a movie to go with it."

His interest picqued, DiNozzo looked at him curiously. "Which movie?" He'd always maintained you tell a lot about a man by the films he chose, and while he'd never asked Gibbs, he kind of suspected the guy would chose _The Green Berets_. Whereas everyone with an ounce of artistic sensibility knew the Duke's finest hour was in _The Searchers_.

"How about _Apocalypse Now_? Or maybe _The Godfather_?"

A broad smile crept across DiNozzo's face. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," he said slyly, wondering if Deeks would get the reference.

"_Casablanca_. Good choice – but maybe not tonight." _No, definitely not tonight. Not till this whole mess is over and I'm back home with Kensi._

"Only one thing for it then." This was the clincher, DiNozzo thought. The final test. So far, Deeks was doing pretty well, but it all depended on this last answer. "Your fall-back film – when all is lost?"

Deeks swung his feet off the bed. "Simple. _Animal House_ it is then?"

It was like a light had appeared in the skies, DiNozzo thought, a heavenly light. Now, if only they could pick up a couple of dates, his night would be complete. So what if there was only one bed – they were grown-ups. They were liberal and tolerant and they'd manage just fine.

"You scared, Marty?" The movie was over and the girls had never materialised, but there were still a few bottles of beer left. They lay side by side in the bed, two men stripped down to boxer shorts and t-shirts in an apartment that was too low-rent to even have a ceiling fan the move the sticky night air. It seemed natural that they'd progressed to first names.

"I'm absolutely bricking it." The beer was making him feel pleasantly mellow, and he tried to focus on the tv as Tony relentlessly channel-hopped. "Never been so scared. How about you?"

Tony paused to savour a raunchy moment from a re-run of _Sex and the City_. For an old broad, Samantha was pretty fit. "Couple of times maybe. Once when I had the plague."

"You had the plague? Shit."

"That's exactly how I felt. And then when Kate got shot. She was my partner. I heard the bullet, you know? Heard it as it went past me and felt the rush of air. And he was a good shot, a really good shot, because he hit her dead centre in the middle of the forehead, like she was nothing more than target practice." Tony had never talked about this before and it wasn't easy. "Her blood splattered over my face, in that second before she dropped down. It was warm, that's what I remember most – how warm her blood was. And how shit scared I was. Never quite got over that. Don't think I ever will. Seeing Kate die and knowing it could have been me." _And I've never quite got over Kate either. She really was the one who got away._

Marty reached down and pulled another bottle of beer out of the cooler and handed it across. "Remind me again why we're doing this?" He popped the cap of his own bottle and held it out.

"Fucked if I know, Marty." Tony clinked his beer against the other bottle and they both drank in silence, staring aimlessly at the tv screen.


	36. Chapter 36

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-six**

_Ah - so sorry for the long delay in updating this... Mea culpa_

* * *

><p>The next day dawned drearily for Kensi, who could not get used to the emptiness of the bed, the way it suddenly seemed too big. And despite the fact that Callen and Nico were back in residence, the house seemed strangely empty.<p>

_Might as well face facts,_ she thought, _you've got it bad, girl. That man is right underneath your skin now._ Funnily enough, she wouldn't have it any other way.

_Come back safely, Marty. You come back to me safely and I promise I'll go surfing with you, no matter how cold the water is. And I'll let Bobby sleep in the bedroom and not complain about his flatulence_. It was as if the little dog sensed she was thinking about him, because he bounced up onto her knee and looked anxiously into her face. And then he shuffled over to Marty's side of the bed and sniffed the pillow, before turning back to gaze at Kensi with a woebegone expression on his furry face.

"You miss him too, don't you?" Kensi flopped down on the bed and pulled Bobby into a tight hug, which he submitted to with remarkable equanimity. It wasn't the same, it wasn't anything like the same, but right now it was the best that was on offer. She didn't feel like going into work today, but there was still a job to be done and at least if she was at the Mission, she'd hear any news at first hand, not have it revealed through a filter, all nicely sanitised. Kensi had a whole store of stock phrases used when breaking the bad news to the bereaved. They were handy to have, as they stopped from thinking too much, from blurting out the truth.

"_It was very quick."_ That meant the reverse. They always knew they were going to die, in Kensi's experience. Even if there was only a momentary realisation, they still knew. You could see it in their eyes.

"_He didn't suffer."_ Well actually, he did. He died in screamingly agony. He was begging me not to let him die and he was in so much pain it nearly tore my heart out of my chest. If he hadn't died when he did, I probably would have been tempted to shoot him and put him out of his misery, like a dog you find dying on the sidewalk. Only we're not allowed to do that. I think we're kinder to animals than we are to humans.

"_We did everything we could."_ But I knew from the start it was useless. Do you know how much pressure you use when do CPR? I could feel his ribs break underneath my hands. I could hear them crack like the broken branch of a tree and I nearly threw up. I had to throw away all the clothes I was wearing, because he bled out all over me. I tried, even though half of his brain was splattered on the wall behind him. We did everything we could, because we loved him too.

"_We're so very sorry."_ You have no idea how sorry I am. Because his death was so horrific I'm never going to forget it. Late at night, when the rest of the world is sleeping, I'm going to be lying in bed trying not to scream as we remember. But I'll tell you these sweet little lies, so that you can have whatever comfort they give. I'll keep the pain to myself so you can remember him whole, smiling and happy. That's what we do. But we won't forget. And we really are so very sorry.

You never got used to death, not ever. Each one was different, but they all had one thing in common – the finality. The absolute, no going back, "this is it", all bets are off, because the complete and utter finality of death was as inescapable as it was inevitable. Death came to get you, whether you were ready or not. Well, Kensi wasn't ready to let go of Marty and she certainly wasn't ready to watch him die. There would never be time enough for that. Suddenly, she had a new sense of purpose and all the pieces seemed to fall into place.

"Callen!" She ran down the stairs at top speed, Bobby at her heels and shouting at the top of her lungs. "Get your butt down here in five. We've got work to do." They'd overlooked one vital thing, and that could make all the difference between Sam dying in whatever place he was being held and Marty prowling around as Max Gentry, just waiting for someone to take him out. How the hell hadn't they thought about this before?

Nico raised her eyebrows in mute accusation as the peace of the morning was shattered.

"I blame it on Gibbs," Callen said lazily. "All that gung-ho military attitude is rubbing off on Kensi – and not in a good way."

"He's rather attractive – for an older man," Nico said thoughtfully.

"I'm an older man," Callen reminded her.

"I know. I've always had a thing for older men. Want me to show you?"

Callen was tempted, seriously tempted. "I'd love to. You know that, right? But Kensi sounded urgent."

"Go on, then. I'll be down after I've had a shower." Nico watched as pulled on his pants and a shirt. "Kensi's not the only who's easily influenced, I see."

"What are you talking about?"

"You – going commando. Just like MIkey." Not that she had any objections. Easy access was good.

"How the hell do you what Deeks wears – or doesn't wear under his pants?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

_Well yes, actually, I would_, Callen thought as he went downstairs_. I definitely would. I think we're going to have to have a little talk about that later on._


	37. Chapter 37

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-seven**

Kensi was pacing the kitchen, like she'd already had about six espressos on an empty stomach. "I've got it," she announced the instant Callen appeared, still looking sleep-ruffled.

"My condolences. Does Deeks know he's going to have to be tested? I hear they're very discrete."

"Funny man." She htrust a cup of coffee into his hand and took another gulp of her own. "The whole business with Max – setting up that dead sailor, Adam Stoddart, with the coke and the note about Max. that was all so Marty had to go back undercover. It's so damned obvious: it was staring us in the face the whole time. I can't believe we didn't work out who was behind it."

"Okay, I'll bite. Tell me about it." Despite his feigned indifference, Callen was sitting on the edge of his seat with barely restrained impatience. Sam had been missing for days now and they were still no nearer to finding him. And he knew only too well that once the first twenty-four hours had passed, the chances of finding a kidnap victim decreased rapidly. And when there wasn't a single ransom demand, those odds went down even further. Things were looking incredibly bleak. If Kensi had some sort of insight, then as far as Callen was concerned, they should run with it, no matter how off the wall it was. Because anything would be better than sitting doing nothing, and all the time worrying that Sam was already dead and Deeks was off on some sort of suicide mission.

"Nicole," Kensi said triumphantly. "Sweet, innocent, betrayed Nicole. Yeah right. She's like a barracuda in human form. Worse than that…"

"She wants your man." It all made perfect sense, Callen thought: Nicole, not so much the poor, wronged woman, but the woman who would sleep with her husband's best friend, who would then put out a contract on said husband and think she could take up where she'd left off with a man she'd last seen over two years ago. He'd seen the tapes when she and Deeks met in the boat house, he had seen with his own eyes the way the woman had looked at Deeks: and Callen knew obsession when he saw it. Dangerous obsession. "Could be. You might just be onto something there, Kensi." He threw back the rest of the coffee, even though he could already feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Come on then – what are we waiting for?" Grabbing the car keys off the hall table, they raced out to the car, Callen running across the gravel in utter imperviousness to the fact that he hadn't bothered to pick up his shoes and was bare-foot, because the pain didn't even register.

"What's your best time to the Mission? Because I bet I can beat it by five." Callen felt lighter in spirit than he had in days. Maybe they were about to break this whole case open at last? God knows, it was time they got a break.

"You're on." Kensi fastened her seatbelt and smiled for the first time in over 24 hours. She didn't care how bumpy this ride might be, as long as it brought Marty back home to her.

* * *

><p>"Interesting. Very interesting indeed." Hetty pursed her lips as she considered their theory.<p>

"It all fits – you have to see that, Hetty." Kensi would have got down on her knees and begged, if that would have made a difference. And judging from the look on his face, Callen would be right there on the floor beside her, grovelling good style. They all had too much at stake here not to take up the smallest lead and run with it.

"Of course I do." Suddenly, Hetty's face lost the strained look it had worn ever since arriving back in LA. "And I got some very interesting information this morning, regarding our late unlamented sailor, PFC Adam Stoddart. Do you know that he and Nicole Martindale grew up in the same neighbourhood? And that after her husband walked out, she rekindled their friendship? I believe things got quite passionate, for a while. Until Max reappeared. I think PFC Stoddart rather resented our Mr Gentry."

Callen mulled this over, mentally putting all the pieces together and hoping to God that he had them in the right order. "It all suited EJ perfectly: she continues on her mission to get rid of the other Operation Frankenstein agents, and at the same manages to start taking out our team in LA, by setting up Nicole to take Sam and leaving that note about Max, knowing that Deeks would go back undercover."

Hetty nodded gravely. "Indeed. That's my exact summation of the situation, Mr Callen. I can only resume that her almost unprecedented levels of access allowed Ms Barrett to learn that Mr Deeks and Max Gentry are one and the same person."

"I knew I should have hit that bitch harder," Kensi said. "Promise me one thing, Callen – when she comes back over here, make sure I get at least one good swing at her."

"Only if you let me have the second one." Normally Callen felt uncomfortable about hitting a woman, but in EJ Barrett's case, he was willing to make an exception.

"Oh good." Hetty clapped her hands together with glee. "That leaves Nicole Martindale all to me. How lovely." She hadn't looked forward to anything quite as much since the day she met her old friend Nelson Mandela when he was finally released from his long years of captivity.

"Save a piece of her for me," Gibbs requested. He'd never forgive EJ for deliberately leading her team into an ambush that had resulted in one man dying and the other being severely wounded. In his mind, that was almost worse than her murderous spree since. Because she was their officer and she had betrayed them. And that went against all his rules and the code of behaviour he lived by. In Gibbs' mind, there was only one person more culpable in this sorry whole affair, and that was the man who had started off the whole shooting match, the man who had been crazy enough to come up with the idea of Operation Frankenstein in the first place and who had sanctioned all the activities since, up to and including the kidnapping of Sam Hannah. Leon Vance was the missing link between EJ Barrett and Nicole Martindale, of that he was quite certain. And while he had no concrete proof, Gibbs was certain that the call made from Vance's car had been to Nicole, telling her where to pick up Sam. And the only way Vance could have known about Nicole, was via EJ. Everything fitted together perfectly. It made sense that EJ would have no compunction about betraying yet another NCIS agent. Hell would seem like a day trip to the seaside when Leroy Jetho Gibbs got his hands on her. Besides which, he had a man involved too. And as annoying as DiNozzo could be, Gibbs was determined that nothing would happen to his agent. Not on his watch. Apart from anything else, it took far too long to train up a replacement.

"I've always believed in teamwork, Jethro." Hetty was more than delighted to share her prize with such a good friend.

"Can we just call Marty and let him know what's happening?" Kensi pleaded. She wanted him out of this whole mess as soon as possible. And once all the necessary debriefing was done, and they'd all thumped Sam on the back and told him how much they had missed him, after all that was over, she was taking Marty home to Malibu and making damned sure he stayed there. Even if she had to handcuff him to the bed. Actually, now she thought about it, that was a brilliant idea. She might even wear the corset again. And once she had him exactly where she wanted him, Kensi was going to make him set a date for their wedding. She'd waited long enough.


	38. Chapter 38

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-eight**

_This is a very short instalment – but I hope you'll find it worthwhile, as things take a couple of new twists. Yup, evil plot bunny is well and truly back in the driving seat!_

* * *

><p>"Ah." It was another of Hetty's monosyllables that she was justly famous for. The woman could invest more meaning into a single syllable than was humanly possible.<p>

"Ah?" Kensi stared at her.

"We are currently experiencing some difficulties with our communication channels," Hetty admitted, hoping against hope that this was just some glitch with the cell towers, but dreading that it wasn't. "I'm afraid we're unable to contact Mr Deeks at present.

Kensi ran upstairs to Ops without saying a single word. She knew without looking back that Callen was hot on her heels.

"Eric – get me Deeks' phone now."

"No can do. Sorry Kensi."

She grabbed hold of his chair, swung it around and bent over, her hands braced on the chair arms, effectively trapping him. "Don't mess with me, Eric. Not today. Not when it's Marty out there."

"Kensi – if I could, I would. Believe me."

"Believe him." Gibbs stretched out a hand and grabbed the waistband of her jeans, pulling Kensi backwards. "Go get yourself a coffee. And then take a walk. I don't want to see you back here for twenty minutes."

"You don't understand." Kensi dug her heels in, quite literally, but the man had biceps like iron and tugged her along as if she was a recalcitrant puppy.

"I understand enough. You need to get out of here, and let him do his job. And you need to get of here and clear your head." With his hand in the small of her back, Gibbs propelled Kensi towards the door. "We'll find him. I promise you." He had a hell of a lot invested in this operation too – his agent was in as much danger as Deeks. Gibbs knew they would find the two men, he just wasn't sure if they would be alive or dead. He looked at Callen and jerked his head towards the door. "Go with her."

Callen looked at Hetty questioningly, and she nodded. It was better that they were not here; they were too close to this, as was she. Which was why she had asked Jethro Gibbs to take over the lead on this operation. For the first time in her life, Hetty could not trust herself to make the right decisions.

Gibbs turned his attention to Eric. "Talk to me." All the warm compassion was gone from his voice, Eric noticed. It was back to its old parade-ground efficiency. But maybe he'd just imagined the tone of sympathy when he was speaking to Kensi and Callen?

"Their cells are dead. Sir."

"Gibbs," he corrected automatically. Why did these people seem to have such a big problem with that? "Last location?" He stared up at the screen expectantly, Hetty at his side.

"GPS placed them at Max's apartment all night. Two hours ago, Deeks' cell got an incoming call. It lasted less than a minute."

"And?" Gibbs whirled around and stared at Eric.

"And that's it. We've had no further contact and we can't raise them. There's no signal coming from either cell. They're dead." Eric stared at the screen helplessly, wishing there was something he could do to magically make the cells spring back into life. "I've tried everything. Three times. Just in case." His voice was bleak. This was the part of the job he hated: when it all went wrong and there was nothing he could do to change it, no magical information he could suddenly produce with a flourish that would suddenly make everything better.

"Thank you, Mr Beale."

"Damn it all to hell." His fist curled into a ball and Gibbs punched the wall. "Send me the bill, Hetty. On second thoughts, don't bother. I'll fix it myself and do a better job into the bargain."

"I'll hold you to that, Jethro." Now, all she had to worry about was two missing men. A mere nothing compared to a decorating emergency.

Eric's attention was captured by a message flashing at the bottom of his screen. He accessed it and blinked rapidly. "Hetty? Central switchboard have a call coming through on the emergency contact line."

"I'm rather preoccupied at the moment, Mr Beale."

"No, I really think you're going to want to take this call. The caller's giving Sam's ID code."

* * *

><p><em>Ah, the dreaded cliff-hanger! But that really is all for today.<em>


	39. Chapter 39

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Thirty-nine**

_A little more of the Deeks/DiNozzo bromance... I really could see these guys together, somehow. I hear Shane Brennan is talking about another cross-over - maybe I should offer my services? I'd jolly well make sure Kensi and Deeks got it together too. With maybe a little light "maimed Deeks" on the side?_

* * *

><p>In an instant, Hetty had skidded across the room and was at his side. <em>For an old bird, you sure can move fast,<em> Eric thought irreverently.

"Put him through please, Mr Beale. On the speakers." Was it too much to hope that it actually was Sam? After all it was much more likely that this was the kidnapper, finally calling up to state his demands. Hetty worked very hard not to think what tortures Sam would have had to endure before he would reveal the emergency number and his personal code. Steeling herself, she put her shoulders back and held her head high. "This is Henrietta Lang." As ever, her voice was steady and her diction impeccable. "To whom am I speaking?" Eric managed to suppress a sile – who else but Hetty would be grammatically correct at such a time?

"Come on, I know I've been gone for a few days, but you've forgotten me already?" Sam leaned against the wall and tried to stop smiling, but it was no good. It just felt so wonderful to be free and to be able to feel the sun on his skin and know that he was alive and he'd see his family again.

"Sam? Sam – is that really you?"

"Large as life and twice as handsome. Aren't you going to ask me a question?" He knew the protocol, that you had to make sure you really were speaking to the right person and that they weren't under duress.

"Where did you punch Director Vance?"

"Where? Well, we were in the Mission and I swung this beauty of a punch that hit him smack in the nose and sent him into the middle of next week. Is that good enough for you?"

"It's perfect. Not unlike that punch. It was reminiscent of Mohammed Ali at his finest. Oh Sam, - are you all right? Where are you?" The words came tumbling out of Hetty's mouth, even as she did a jig of sheer delight, catching hold of Gibbs' arm and swinging him around with her. He didn't seem to object in the slightest.

"I'm fine. And I'm at a gas station in Sylmar. But Hetty – you need to know this. It was Nicole who was holding me. Nicole Martindale. And she wants Deeks." He'd woken up a short time ago to find his bounds untied and the door standing open. And while part of him had been filled with joy, Sam had known this was not exactly good news – well, not for Deeks at any rate.

"Oh bugger." All the joy seeped out of Hetty's body. They were already too late. Sam was safe, but were Deeks and DiNozzo walking into a trap? "Sam – stay on the line. We'll get LAPD to send the nearest patrol and bring you back here."

"Can you do me a favour?" All of a sudden, Sam felt very weary, like he could sleep for a hundred years. "Call Denise, will you?"

"I'll do better than that. I'll bring her and Crosby over here to the Mission." Apart from anything else, Hetty would rather they were somewhere safe until Nicole was apprehended. God alone knew what else she had planned and Hetty wasn't about to take any changes.

* * *

><p>"You snore," Deeks said, giving DiNozzo an indignant look. "Very loudly."<p>

"You snuggled into me and called me Kensi." DiNozzo felt that evened things up, even if it wasn't exactly true.

"You don't look anything like Kensi – why would I do a thing like that?"

"Your eyes were closed, Deeks. You were asleep."

"I might be missing her, but I'm not that desperate." He crawled out of bed and stretched in a desultory manner and then ambled over to the kitchen area and started to make some coffee. "Besides, you've got a hairy butt and she doesn't."

It was better just to ignore somethings. "Oh God – you're as bad as Gibbs. Always with the coffee." DiNozzo pulled himself up into a sitting position and scratched his chest idly. "Not to mention the extra- curricular activities with an NCIS agent," he added slyly.

"Gibbs had an affair?" Deeks knew vaguely that the guy had been married more times than he'd had haircuts, but this was news. "With Ziva?"

It was a good thing the coffee wasn't ready, or DiNozzo would probably have given himself second degree burns. "Most definitely not with Ziva," he managed when he'd finally stopped choking with laughter. "If anyone's going to have an affair with Ziva, it's me."

"Really?" Deeks lost interest in Gibbs' one time lover. "I thought she had more taste than that."

"Come on - she's going out with CIRay. Enough said. The guy looks like a lizard. With oily hair. And bad suits." For the life of him, DiNozzo could not understand what Ziva saw in the guy. Not only was he smarmy and looked like a geek, he was C I bloody-A. What was she thinking? It suddenly dawned on DiNozzo that Deeks had managed to insult him. "And we did sleep together. Me and Ziva. More than once." Okay, they'd shared a bed – pretty much like he'd done with Deeks, but he wasn't going to mention that fact. Nothing had happened, but it might have, and that was the point. Actually, it still might happen, once Ziva ditched the spook in a suit. A bad suit.

"Really? Is it true she sleeps with a knife clenched between her teeth?"

"She keeps it on the bedside cabinet, if you really must know."

"Along with her ninja throwing stars?" Deeks poured out the coffee. "I'd be afraid she'd slit my throat in the night."

"If she had to sleep with you, Ziva would probably cut her own throat." He took the coffee gratefully, thinking that the last beer had probably been one too many. "How did you manage to swing your rumble in the jungle with Kensi anyway?"

"Swing what?" Deeks put on his very best innocent look. "There was nothing to swing. She's NCIS, I'm LAPD. No problems." Except for the fact that Kensi and Hetty keep going on at me to transfer over. They're like some tag-team from hell. Pretty soon they're going to overcome me. And if it was just Kensi, then I wouldn't mind to much. But I don't want Hetty thinking she's got my measure. Even if she has.

"So that's why you won't sign those papers and commit." DiNozzo sat down and then swung his feet up onto the kitchen table. "Clever little arrangement."

"I thought it was a cunning plan. By the way, DiNozzo – seeing as how it's still early, go and stop flashing me, will you? Those boxers don't have buttons on the fly, you know."

"Picky." DiNozzo hastily adjusted his clothing. "Another day of bar hopping then?"

Deeks surveyed the dregs of his coffee gloomily. "I guess. Unless you have a better idea?"

"We could go cruising on that bike of yours? Maybe see if we can catch a little action that way."

"I suppose that could work," Deeks admitted. He didn't think he could face drinking any more of that whiskey, not if he wanted to have a liver that still functioned, rather than lying whimpering gently. "But I'm driving."

"I rode pillion yesterday," DiNozzo protested.

""And you'll be riding pillion again today. It's my bike." _This is weird. We're beginning to sound like Callen and Sam._

"Fair enough. But I get first shower in exchange." He stood up and walked across to the bathroom. "Is it my imagination, or is this floor sticky?"

"It's sticky," Deeks confirmed, and tried not to think about exactly why it was sticky. DiNozzo was alright, he thought. Actually, he was more than alright, he was pretty solid. A good person to have at your back. He was just contemplating making himself another cup of coffee when the door crashed open and two guys rushed in. It was always going to be an unequal struggle, given they were both built like silverback apes, only marginally less attractive, but Deeks gave it his best shot, as DiNozzo stood under the shower and crooned "_That's Amore_" at the top of his voice.

"DiNozzo?" Deeks spun around and kicked out sharply, using his momentum to put as much force as possible into the blow. His attacker staggered backwards and looked rather surprised. His companion threw a wild, roundhouse punch that Deeks saw coming a mile off and was able to duck underneath. They stopped taking turns after that, and just concentrated on clobbering him, pretty much indiscriminately. For every blow Deeks got in, he took at least two back. "DiNozzo!" he yelled again, more forcefully this time and hearing the desperation in his own voice. These guys made in brawn what they lacked in brains and he was getting seriously pasted here. Already he could feel his left eye starting to swell shut.

"Keep your hair on." DiNozzo turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and sauntered leisurely out of the bathroom, only remembering about the rancid carpet when his clean foot made contact with a spot that was both moist and tacky. Just as he was opening his mouth to protest, he caught sight of Deeks, caught in a stranglehold by the some guy who looked like he'd escaped from a sumo camp. Deeks' feet were dangling in the air and he really didn't look happy. And to make matters worse, there was another, even larger goon advancing towards him, DiNozzo realised.

"Holy shit." It was worse than getting caught with his pants down. This time he didn't even have any underwear on, just this damned towel. Ziva would never let him hear the end of this.

* * *

><p><em>Of course, if we have maimed Tony, Ziva might just feel she has to come over to LA to see him... any takers for that idea?<em>


	40. Chapter 40

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty**

There comes a time in every man's life when he realises that this is the moment when a futile gesture is required. It is, of course, entirely optional as to whether or not he accepts the challenge or merely turns smartly around and runs for the hills. Tony DiNozzo whipped the towel off from around his face, snapped it smartly in the face of his attacker and then launched a full-frontal assault that was as admirable as it was fool-hardy. What did he have to lose, after all? His last conscious thought was that he was showering fully-clothed from now on. At least that would allow him to die with dignity.

"_C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre_," Deeks thought briefly. The lack of oxygen getting to his brain was clearly doing strange things when he started thinking about the Charge of the Light Brigade in the middle of a fight. Still, DiNozzo's valiant charge was inspiring, in a vaguely suicidal sort of way. "Into the jaws of hell," his starving brain sang out and instinctively he lowered his head and sank his large, white teeth into his opponent's forearm, biting down as hard as he possibly could. There was an unnerving sensation as the skin finally broke under the pressure and then the resistance was considerably less, rather like biting into a thick steak. The man let out a nighty yell and dropped his captive to the floor. Falling like a rag-doll, Deeks briefly considered just curling up into a ball and going into basic survival mode, but he could see DiNozzo putting on an incredible show, taunting his opponent magnificently and moving like a fencer, darting out of range every time he landed a blow. It was as inspiring as it was pathetic. They were so going to get creamed. Or, as the Scots so eloquently phrased it, they were going to have their heads put back. About the best he could hope for was that they put the heads back on the right bodies. With a weary sigh, Deeks staggered to his feet and jabbed his fingers right underneath his attacker's ribs and then followed up with the flat of his hand into the man's windpipe. For a moment he thought he might actually have done some lasting damage, but the moment was all too swift and besides, it was ill-conceived from the start. Oblivion, when it finally arrived courtesy of a brain-numbing blow to the head, was only too welcome.

After dumping the two unconscious men in the back of their van, the two attackers went back into the apartment and turned it over, pocketing the weapons and stomping the cell phones into smithereens. The neighbours all wisely stayed indoors, with their heads well down. They'd seen it all before and knew better than to get involved.

* * *

><p>"Get hold of Callen and Kensi," Gibbs commanded. "Tell them to get over to Nicole Martindale's house. Hetty and I will meet them there, once we've checked the apartment. And then issuing an all-points bulletin…"<p>

"I know the drill," Eric confirmed, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "Nell and I will check all the local cameras, see if we can get any information. If we do, I'll send it to your cell phones."

Gibbs gave him a look of admiration that was only slightly grudging. "And don't forget…"

"To get a car to pick up Denise and Crosby?" Nell smiled at him fearlessly, having quickly discovered that Gibbs gave females a hell of a lot more rope to hang themselves with than men. "It's already taken care of."

He followed Hetty over to the door, saying something that was difficult to catch. Eric waited until he was quite sure they were alone. "Did I hear right?" He rubbed his ears.

Nell smirked. That was the only word for it. "You did indeed. He said "good work". That's high praise, coming from Gibbs."

"The fact you're female and you've got red hair has got nothing to do with it, I suppose?" A quick snoop around the edges of Gibbs' personnel file had revealed his weakness in that respect. The guy certainly had an active life outside work. It was really rather admirable, especially given his age. Eric thought your sex drive was almost gone by the time you were fifty and was relieved to see this was not necessarily the case as it gave him hope for the future.

"Nothing at all. And anyway, I don't have red hair: it's auburn." She swatted him across the back of the head. "I heard that! It's not ginger – not at all."

"Only in certain lights it is…Okay, I've got the cameras outside the apartment. Want to have a look?" His breath whistled out in disbelief. "This is so not good."

There was a large lump in her throat and Nell had to swallow several times before it dissipated enough for her to speak. "No plates on the van. What a surprise. I guess they don't ask too many questions in that part of town." She tried very hard not to think about how badly Deeks might be hurt. And DiNozzo too, of course. Only Deeks was… he was Deeks. He was part of the team, part of her life, and to see him carried out, limp and unconscious, possibly even dead, was really hard.

"Why the hell is DiNozzo naked?" Eric asked curiously, and zoomed in for a closer look. He was so not his type, but still… He checked him out quickly: yup, the guy was hot. Pity about the tan line, but then you couldn't have everything. And DiNozzo had a hell of a lot.

"Pervert." Nell reached over his shoulder and panned the camera so that it focused on Deeks, lying limply over his assailant's shoulder. "Cute underwear." Black briefs, she thought enviously. Tight-fitting black briefs, that hugged his butt. Kensi was so lucky. She'd wager the front view was even better.

"Listen to who's talking. You reckon Deeks want that printed out for his Christmas cards this year? It certainly catches him at his best." Eric started to access the cameras further up the street, in an attempt to trace the van as it drove across the city. They were still tracking its progress and updating the teams out in the field, when a familiar voice broke into the otherwise silent rom.

"I knew it was too short notice to expect a red carpet, but just one person waiting for me down stairs would have been nice. Make me feel welcome. Did you even notice I was gone?"

"Sam!" Nell ran across the room and leapt into his arms. "It's so good to see you." She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I missed you too. I missed all of you." He scanned the room. "And it looks like I'm still missing a few familiar faces. You want to fill me in?"

"Take a seat." Eric kicked a chair towards him. "Nell will go get you something to eat and drink, because believe me, you're going to need to be at full strength for this." He took a good look at his friend and smiled. "How about she gets you that electric razor you keep in your locker while she's at it? Because your head looks like a hedgehog right now."

"To hell with my head. What's been going on?" Sam had a very bad feeling about all of this.

* * *

><p><em>Naked Tony. Deeks in tight black briefs - is it just me or does anyone else like these images? Why haven't they already been incorporated into the show? on a weekly basis?<em>


	41. Chapter 41

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty-one**

Sam was very glad to be sitting down when Eric started to reel off the catastrophic chain of events that had been unfolding. "Vance tried to kill Hetty?" He knew he should have hit Vance harder when he'd had the chance. A couple of pounds more force and his nasal bone would have gone clear into his brain and that would have been "bye bye, Director." Sam couldn't imagine there would have been much of a crowd at his funeral. Certainly, the whole of NCIS would have been out celebrating.

"With his bare hands," Eric confirmed. "Luckily Gibbs and DiNozzi turned up, doing their Seventh Cavalry bit."

"That was handy," Sam remarked dryly. "They just happened to be in the area, I suppose?"

"You know Hetty. Always prepared for all eventualities. She could teach Baden Powell a thing or two."

Sam looked at him curiously, giving particular attention to Eric's ubiquitous cargo shorts. "She never managed to teach you anything about basic dress codes and I doubt she'd be any more successful with BP. He had a thing for bad shorts too."

Eric decided to let this pass: Sam had endured a hellish few days, after all. Besides which, Sam was just so damned big. Even his hands appeared twice the size of a normal man's. Nell came back with a fully laden tray and Sam's eyes grew wide with delight as he took in the juice, sandwiches, chips and coffee.

"No cookies? Or pie?" he asked plaintively.

"Give me a chance. Finish what's on your plate and I'll see about dessert later."

"You sound like my Mom." Sam demolished a sandwich in two bites and picked up another one. "So what's happening to Vance? Even he can't manage to walk away from attempted murder – can he?"

"Therein lies a tale." Nell settled herself comfortably and helped herself to a glass of juice. "Hetty swung a sweet deal. She agreed that everything could be dealt with quietly, so as not to compromise the reputation of NCIS. Vance will be detained indefinitely at a secure facility. Very secure. I don't think we'll be hearing from him again. I don't think anyone will be hearing from him again." She looked like the cat who has just broken into the creamery and is swimming around in a vat of cream.

"And?" Sam knew there had to be more. They seemed to have gone down this same road once before. He was none too sanguine that Vance wouldn't manage to weasel his way out of this too.

"In exchange for the full Operation Frankenstein dossier. The unexpurgated version."

"That means it's not been edited," Eric said helpfully. "Or censored."

"I know what it means!" Just because once upon a time he'd queried if there was actually such a work as "liaise", there was no need to treat him like a congenital idiot, Sam thought. "Does it make interesting reading?"

"No idea. It's not here yet. It's coming by special courier later today. From the President's hands straight to Hetty's." Nell took a deep breath. "There's more, Sam. And it's not good."

He'd kind of guessed that already, given that Nell and Eric were the only ones left holding the fort. Clearly something major was going on. "Tell me." Sam put down his meal and gazed steadily at her. "Is it Callen?" _The guy can't manage without me._

"Callen's fine. It's Deeks."

"Please don't tell me Callen dropped him on his head again?"

"Not quite. He went back undercover as Max Gentry and… "

"I told Hetty that Nicole was behind this!" Sam interjected. "She should have got Deeks out." He got up and started pacing around the room in frustration. "Why the hell didn't she get him out?"

"It was too late. They'd already grabbed Deeks by the time you got in touch. DiNozzo too."

"Are they alive?"

"Impossible to tell." Eric pulled up the camera footage.

"Aren't those the Armani briefs David Beckham used to advertise?" Sam asked. Only Deeks could manage to get himself abducted dressed like that. Still, at least he had something covering his modesty (or lack thereof) for once, especially given his predilection for going commando. Unlike poor DiNozzo. Sam realised his own abduction could have been a lot worse – at least he'd been fully clothed. The other two were never going to live this down. He'd personally make sure of it. Presuming they were still alive, of course. He wanted desperately to get out and do something, but had to fight this with the conflicting urge to see Denise and Crobsy.

Eric's computer screen flashed a message. "Courier's here with the dossier. You want to go sign for it, Nell? I'll let Hetty know."

"No need. They tried to stop me but I can be very pervasive." A security sealed package was dumped unceremoniously on top of Sam's tray, and Eric made a desperate grab to stop the remaining juice from going all over his keyboard. There were few things worse than sticky keyboard, he thought and wiped his shirt sleeve lovingly over the keys. He didn't dare say anything though.

Nell smiled at the visitor. "I think you mean "persuasive, Ziva," she said politely. "Welcome to LA."

* * *

><p><em>Ziva appears by popular demand!<em>


	42. Chapter 42

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty-two**

_A nice long chunk tonight, with more cross-over action. Deeks and DiNozzo are just a dream to write for. And just in case anyone has forgotten, we are talking about naked Tony and Deeks in revealing underwear. It's such a good picture - I really am going to have to contact Shane Brennan. Can I copyright it, do you think?_

* * *

><p>"Thanks," Ziva said and Sam wondered if she was always this brusque. He'd heard about her – it was hard to work for NCIS and not know about the semi-legendary Ziva David, ex-Mossad, 100% deadly and almost as hot. "I have been here before. The last time I was here, the Director died."<p>

"By accident or design?" he asked curiously. Maybe they should just sic her onto Leon. He'd pay good money to see that particular encounter. It would be short, but boy would it be sweet.

A look of what might have been regret flitted across Ziva's face. "Jenny Shepherd was my friend," she said shortly. She looked across at Eric's computer screen, which was still frozen in an extreme close-up of DiNozzo's exposed rear. "Tony!" she gasped in horror. "That's Tony Dinozzo."

"How the hell can you tell from that angle?" Eric panned out to show the whole picture, confirming that it was indeed her partner.

"I'm a trained agent. I'd recognise his little hairy butt anywhere." Ziva said this in a matter of fact tone of voice, as if it was perfectly normal, which indeed it might have been in Mossad circles. Butt identification could in fact be the latest technique, although it hardly seemed likely. The indisputable fact remained that she had recognised her partner instantly. From looking at his naked butt. To Eric's mind, there was only one possible way she could be so familiar with it – but he certainly wasn't going to press the issue.

"They hit him on the head, didn't they?" she asked sadly. "Tony gets hit on the head a lot."

"He sounds a lot like Deeks," Sam said. "Tell me - is he kind of annoying, flirts a lot and makes bad jokes?"

Ziva thought for a moment. "He's charming, and brave. And he's got good hair. And he's very handsome." There was a wistful tone in her voice and her eyes remained fixed on the monitor.

"Just like Deeks!" Nell crowed, knowing how this would rile Sam.

"And I will kill whoever has taken him." This time Ziva's voice was dead flat and completely without emphasis, leaving her listeners in no doubt that she meant every word.

"You might just have to stand in line. There's a few people there ahead of you. Starting with Callen and Kensi."

"Pah! You think I am bothered by courtesy? Queuing is for wimps. I want something – I make sure I get it. And I want who ever has taken Tony."

Nell looked at Sam pleadingly. "Can we set her onto EJ next? Please? Pretty please?"

"EJ? EJ Barrett? Small with a skinny ass and a big opinion of herself?" Ziva loathed the woman She kept telling herself this had nothing to do with the fact that EJ had made a bee-line for DiNozzo and had managed to sink her talons in pretty deeply. It was pure coincidence that around the same time Ziva had taken up with Ray. "She doesn't wear any pants."

"Yes, she does," Sam protested. "Leather ones. So tight they looked sprayed on."

"I think Ziva means EJ goes commando. Like Deeks," Nell explained.

"And Tony," Ziva was still staring at the monitor

"Anyway, EJ tried to kill us all in Scotland. Me, Callen, Kensi and Hetty. She burned this stately home down to the ground."

Ziva considered this carefully. "She never was very efficient. I would just have stabbed you. It's quicker."

"Thanks."

"EJ – her I will kill slowly." It sounded like Ziva relished the prospect. Sam wondered if she was fully aware that in general the objective of law enforcement agents was to take captives alive, but decided it was too risky to enquire any further.

Eric contemplated the prospect of Ziva and Kensi descending on Nicole and demanding the release of their men. How awesome would that be? If he was into girl-on-girl action. Still, there was no doubt it would be worth watching. If only there was some way he could get it all captured on film – it would go down a storm the next time the male agents held one of their get togethers. The ones which usually dissolved into a squalid farce around midnight, by which time the floor was awash with spilt beer.

"Take the file." Ziva picked it up and thrust it into Sam's hands. "I'm going to find my partner."

"I wouldn't dream of stopping you," he assured her. "How about you call Gibbs and let him know you're here?"

"You've just come off a long flight," Nell protested. "Aren't you tired?"

Ziva gave her a puzzled look. "In Mossad we carry out regular training missions that last a week, with only minimal sleep. This is nothing."

And Sam had thought life in the SEALs was tough. It sounded like a holiday camp by comparison.

* * *

><p>"I told you not to mark his face!" Nicole complained, taking Deeks' chin in her hand and gently turning his head so that she could examine the damage: the left eye already swollen and showing every sign of bruising, split lip and a large contusion on the back of his head that had bled copiously all down his neck and torso. "You should have been more careful."<p>

"Couldn't be helped. You wanted him – you've got him. So he's a little banged up – so what? It's no big deal."

"Why did you bring the other one?" She kicked DiNozzo laconically. "He's no use to me. And you shouldn't have knocked him out." Nicole's attention was fully focused on Deeks one again. She hunkered down in front of him and stroked his hair lovingly. "You might have hurt him."

Her hired thugs exchanged bemused looks. The two agents were both battered, bleeding and unconscious, but Nicole didn't seem to have comprehended this fact. But at least her money was good. Nicole paid well, she paid in cash and she paid up-front. All in all, she might be completely nutty, but she was an ideal customer.

"Naw, he'll be fine. You want we should take the other one and dump him?"

"What? No, just leave him. He's Max's friend. It's nice for Max to have a friend. I don't want him to get lonely." Nicole stood up and smiled at them. "I think he's really tired, he's been working too hard you know. So I'll just let him sleep for a little bit longer and then I'll bring him some lunch. I'm making chicken soup. That's Max's favourite, you know." She ushered them outside and carefully locked the door behind her.

"Deeks?" Tony's voice was low and cautious. "You okay?" He'd counted to fifty after Nicole had left and then judged it safe to speak.

"Just peachy. You?" It hurt to speak, he realised and felt his jaw tenderly. Nope, it wasn't broken, at least he didn't think so, but it felt pretty swollen.

"I hurt all over. And I'm freezing. But I don't think anything's broken."

"You're cold because you're naked."

"Don't remind me." DiNozzo shuffled over so that his back was leaning against the wall and hugged his knees for warmth. "I'm not sure I want to be rescued. Not when I'm naked."

"Baby." Deeks crawled over and sat beside him. He could feel how DiNozzo was shivering and nudged him gently. "We should share our body heat. Stop you getting hypothermia."

"Speak for yourself. I hardly see how one pair of body hugging briefs is going to keep you warm." He didn't object when Deeks moved closer so that their legs were touching.

"Anyway, you've got more body fat than me, so you'll last longer. Scientific fact."

"I had the plague. I'm immune-compromised. This damp won't do my lungs any good." He managed a pathetic sounding cough.

"Congratulations. I've been hit on the head and knocked out at least four times in the last month. Or is it five? I can't remember. And I had brain surgery. So I'll definitely die first."

DiNozzo considered this for a moment. "Probably," he admitted. "Cool scar, by the way." He pointed to the red line marking Deeks' thigh. "How did you get it?"

"I was out surfing one day, down in Mexico, and this big shark thought I was breakfast. Tried to take a chomp out of me."

"Oh. Was your board okay?" In the gloom DiNozzo's teeth flashed white. "I should have realised what you were after when you snuggled in to me last night. But you didn't have to go to such lengths just to get me alone and all to yourself." He shuddered again. "This is going to look so bad if we die and they find us here like this. Cuddling. My reputation will be ruined."

"We're not cuddling. We're trying to survive. And you're not my type anyway. Gibbs is – I have this unrequited passion for authority figures. Some days it takes Callen _and_ Sam to hold me back when I see Hetty. And it could be worse. They could find us here like this and we're still alive," Deeks forced out between chattering teeth. "And then both our reputations will be ruined. We'll have to resign from NCIS."

"You'd have to join first."

"True. This remind me of a film."

"_The Great Escape_? Bags I be Steve McQueen as Hilts, the Cooler King. You can be the wee Scottish guy."

"Angus Lennie- Ives, the Mole," Deeks said absently. "No, I was thinking more of _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_. You know that bit in Bolivia, where they're holed up in the village and they know they're surrounded."

Yes, DiNozzo knew that bit. It was right at the end, just before they rushed outside and died. "You really are a cheerful bastard, Deeks. But at least you've got good taste in films." So it could be worse. But not by much.

"I'll be Sundance. He was younger."

"And he had a mustache. Fair enough."

"He also had Etta Place. She was hot." Deeks stared at the floor. "Kensi's going to kill me if I die before we get married."

"She's hot too, "DiNozzo said. "Not that I've noticed, or anything. But people – other people – say she is."

"Yeah, she is. What about Ziva?"

"She's hot too."

"And?"

"And nothing. There's no "Tony and Ziva". I wish there was, but there isn't. So now you know." DiNozzo stared down at the floor too and silence descended.


	43. Chapter 43

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty-three**

"You're not going to believe this." Callen was waiting outside Nicole's house when Hetty and Gibbs pulled up. "Nicole's actually taken Deeks and DiNozzo back to the same place she was holding Sam. It's over in Sylmar, right on the city boundary."

"Nobody ever said Nicole was smart," Kensi said, with a touch of completely justified bitchiness. She was shifting uneasily from foot to foot. "Can we get going now? Please?" She didn't dare let herself think about what Nicole might have done to Marty – might be doing to him right now, while they were standing here talking and just wasting time.

"Good idea." Gibbs jerked him thumb towards Kensi. "You come with me. You can give me directions and brief me at the same time."

A look of relief passed across Hetty's face: driving with Gibbs was an interesting experience, but not necessarily one she wished to repeat in a hurry. Especially on the freeway, in rush-hour. "Ziva David will be joining us," she remarked conversationally as the car moved away.

The blood drained from Callen's face. "Permanently?" he managed.

"Oh no. I meant at Sylmar. She couriered the Frankenstein dossier over from Washington."

Callen found he could breathe more easily. The thought of Ziva joining the LA team was strangely terrifying. "Any idea what's in the dossier?" he asked conversationally.

"Apart from Leon's death warrant? Well, far be it for me to speculate, but I'd venture to guess it contains a complete list of all operatives, both dead and alive. That could keep us rather busy for some time, rounding them all up. Splendid opportunities for world travel. So broadening for the mind."

"My mind's plenty broad enough, thank you very much."

Hetty glanced across at him. "Nesting instinct kicking in, is it?" she asked slyly.

"I've no idea what you're talking about." Callen could do bland with the best of them.

"Come, come. You can't stay imposing on Mr Deeks' hospitality forever, you know. Sooner or later you are going to have to decide what you really want from life."

Well, the answer to that one was pretty easy. Callen found he didn't even have to think, because he already knew the answer. And it consisted of just one word – Nico. "I already know," he said and realised that commitment wasn't so hard after all. "And I don't want to spend the next year chasing people all around the world. Get someone else to do that. Someone younger. I've been there, done that and got half a dozen t-shirts in my closet. Give some other guy the chance to get a passport full of stamps and learn how to ask for a beer in twelve different languages."

"I thought you might say that. But I also thought you might just need a small push."

She looked inordinately pleased with herself, Callen realised. "You like organising my life, don't you?"

This time it was Hetty who feigned surprise. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You bought me a house."

"I arranged for the purchase of a house for you. You paid for it. Is that where you're going to live?"

"Probably not. That was the past. We should choose something together."

"Very sensible. I might know of a house you and Ms Sterling would wish to look at it. It's not on the market yet, but the owner might be willing to sell, if the offer was right." Hetty had several houses, scattered around the city. Some she lived in, always varying her routine, others merely formed part of her property portfolio and were occasionally used for various dignitaries visiting incognito. But really, she had far too many possessions and it was time to start letting go of a few. The house she had in mind was a particular favourite and it would be a good start. And it would be comforting to think of Callen and Nico living there, starting their lives together in her old home. Once upon a time, she'd had dreams of living a very different life in that house. Maybe they could take the memories of her dreams and weave new ones of their own? It was high time the house rang with the sound of children's laughter again.

"You're setting me up again, aren't you?" Callen had a suspicion she was up to something, but he just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

Hetty smiled blandly and looked out of the windshield. "I do hope Mr Deeks isn't too chilly. Those underpants of his looked rather skimpy."

"I'm sure Kensi will warm him up and put a smile back on his face." Nell had sent a photo to his cell, along with a couple of x-rated comments. Callen made a mental note to rib Deeks about those underpants – and especially the effect they had on the female members of NCIS, up to and including Hetty, it appeared. After he'd found out more about where he'd got them from. After all, if Nico knew so much about Deeks' underwear habits, it was a fair bet she'd go for those in a big way. And one day, in the not too distant future, they were going to sit down and have a long talk about her relationship with Deeks and exactly what it entailed. And if that involved wearing briefs instead of boxers, then that was fine with Callen. Although he drew the line at going commando. Years ago he'd watched an episode of _St Elsewhere_ and this doctor got himself caught in his zipper. The mere thought of that still brought tears to his eyes.

"There's Miss David," Hetty remarked as Callen pulled in a couple of streets before the target house.

She didn't look that impressive, Callen thought. Quite ordinary, really. Except for giving the impression that given the half the chance she would quite happily disembowel anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

"How did Tony get involved in this?" Ziva barely waited until Gibbs had got out of the car.

"Because he asked and I agreed." Gibbs bared his teeth in what might have been an attempt at a smile. It didn't quite work.

"He was naked when they took him," Ziva said accusingly.

"Was he indeed?" To his credit, Gibbs didn't actually sound surprised, Kensi thought.

"The other man was wearing briefings."

"Briefs," Kensi corrected automatically. "Black ones. I bought them for him. And his name's Marty, by the way." There was a note of asperity in her voice.

"They were very form-fitting," Ziva admitted.

"I know. I bought them for him."

"You have good taste." They were walking up the hill together, side by side, almost chummily.

"I know." Despite everything, Kensi found herself grinning.

"Sam told me you and Callen get to hit this Nicole person first."

Kensi discovered she was feeling in a generous mood. "You can take first hit." After all, she planned on being fully occupied in hugging Marty. "I don't mind, honestly."

"You really love him, don't you?" Ziva's gaze was focussed straight ahead, Kensi discovered as she looked across at her. It was almost as if she was afraid to look at her.

"Yes, I do. We started out as partners and then things happened."

"Tony and I are partners."

"And?"

"And it's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Maybe." They were approaching the house now. "If she has hurt Tony, I will kill her."

"And I'll help you bury the body." _If she's hurt Marty, I won't be responsible for what I'll do. And who could blame me? We're talking about a woman who sets up contract killings and kidnaps federal agents here._

"Is it difficult?" Ziva asked in an off-hand manner that didn't fool Kensi for a second.

"Sometimes it is." She knew exactly what the other woman was referring to. "But mostly it's great. Nobody else really understands what our jobs are like, and that can be difficult. But if you love someone enough, you work through your differences" _And God knows we've had our problems._ "The question is – do you love him, Ziva?"

* * *

><p><em>Does anyone else remember Mark Harmon playing Bobby Caldwell in St Elsewhere? And having the unfortunate accident with his zipper? That little reference made evil plot bunny scamper in behind the fridge in terror, I can tell you<em>


	44. Chapter 44

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty-four**

"I don't do love. Love is distracting." Ziva sounded very matter of fact, but kensi noticed the ways her fingers played nervously against the leg of her pants.

"Sometimes you can't help falling in love. And it can be pretty wonderful."

"Love hurts." Ziva turned soulful eyes upon her. "My life has been full of pain. So now I try to distance myself. But sometimes, sometimes it is difficult." _There was this man, but he was already dying when I met him. I think maybe I could have loved him. And then there is Tony… but I don't know. I honestly do not know. I wish I did._

"I know. Believe me, I know. And I get that you're saying that love hurts, but sometimes, being without love hurts even more We all need someone to love. And to be loved back. That's what makes us human." _I thought I loved Jack, but that wasn't love. And I was so afraid to let myself fall in love again, until I met Marty and then there wasn't anything I could do to stop myself. And now I can't imagine my life without him._

"Maybe they trained me too well in Mossad?"

"Maybe you can change all that? If you're brave enough to take the risk? What have you got to lose?"

_He could reject me. And how could we ever work together after that? How could I risk that_. "It's hard," Ziva said eventually. Physical courage was one thing, and had never been an issue. But this was completely different.

"I know. But if you don't take the risk, you'll never know."

Ahead of them, Gibbs drew to a halt. "Target's dead ahead. Callen and I will take the house. Eric's been monitoring the satellite images and our best intell is that Nicole is in there alone. But we're not taking any chances." He put on his own Kevlar vest and watched as the rest of the team followed suit. "You two go round the back. According to Sam, he was held in a sub-basement, entering from a door at the rear of the property. There's no other entrance."

That meant there was a danger they could easily become trapped with no alternative escape route, Kensi thought automatically. And then she looked across at Ziva and revised that idea, because there was no way Ziva would allow that to happen. She'd simply eviscerate anyone standing between her and freedom.

"We'll give you the signal when it's safe to go in. But you wait until we've got Nicole. Understand?" Gibbs directed his statement towards Ziva, who pursed her lips into a thin line, but eventually nodded agreement. All thoughts of revenge had long since fled from Kensi's mind, she was only concerned with one thing at the moment – finding Marty. She'd deal with everything else later, so she was more than happy to agree to Gibbs' demand. Inserting the earpiece, she and Ziva took up their positions and then waited, trying to push down the familiar sensations of fear and excitement as they vied for supremacy.

"Suspect secured." Gibbs' sounded as calm and unflustered as ever. It had been surprisingly easy, as Nicole was sitting in a chair, rocking back and forward and crooning to herself, clutching a blanket to herself. She just looked blankly at the two men who had burst into her house with guns drawn and set expressions on their faces and made no attempt to move, far less put up even a token resistance.

"Don't wake my baby," was all she said. Callen felt his heart miss a beat and he took the bundle carefully. When he unwrapped it, he saw that it contained a kitten, which had been dead for at least a week. "Isn't he beautiful?" Nicole asked, smiling rapturously and seemingly impervious to the fact that Gibbs was shackling her hands behind her back. "He's called Max junior, after his daddy." He waited until Gibbs had taken her outside before he laid the pathetic little creature on the table and drew the shroud around it once more. Sometimes, despite everything Callen been through and all that he had seen, sometimes this job still really got to him. He barely made it outside before he threw up, choking as the bitter vomit filled his mouth.

The instant Gibbs gave the go-ahead Ziva nodded and Kensi snuck cautiously around the corner of the building, her gun poised and ready to open fire at the slightest provocation, but the area was clear. At her signal, Ziva came forward, while Kensi kept a sharp lookout. Now that they were so close, there was no way either woman was taking any chances. The door was padlocked, with a cheap lock that either of them could have opened in less than a minute, but neither of them actually wanted to wait that long. Ziva simply took aim and blew it to smithereens and then kicked open the door, shouting "Armed federal agents!" as she ducked to one side.

"You took your time," a familiar voice complained. "Naked federal agents freezing their asses off down here."

"Marty!" Kensi bounded down the steps and literally flung herself into his arms, nearly bowling him over in the process.

Ziva stood in the doorway with an unreadable expression on her face, while Tony stood in the gloom with a slightly sheepish expression on his face and his hands strategically placed. "I'm not at my best," he said defensively. "It's bloody cold down here."

"I can see that. It is a fact that when the temperature drops, the male body reacts by drawing the scrotal sac upwards…"

"I don't need an anatomy lesson." To his left, DiNozzo was only too aware that Kensi was running her hands all over Deeks, making little cooing noises at the same time. That was how a real woman reacted, he thought. The kiss that was now taking place was almost as good as the famous Burt Lancaster/Deborah Kerr kiss in _From Here to Eternity_. And what did he get? A partner who informed him that his balls had retreated up into his body for warmth. Great. Just great. "I don't suppose there's any chance of a blanket, is there?"

"Need something to cover your embarrassment with, DiNozzo?" Gibbs clattered down the stone steps and tapped Kensi on the shoulder. "Put him down, will you? Or do I have to get a bucket of water?"

"Tony?" Ziva shook herself with a start. "You are alright?" Walking slowly towards him, she reached out a hand and touched him lightly on the shoulder, feeling how cold he was. "I was worried."

It was like a shaft of sunlight had just illuminated the cellar.


	45. Chapter 45

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty-five**

DiNozzo found that Ziva was standing perfectly still, just looking at him. He remembered that look on her face, remembered it from years ago, from an undercover operation that had so nearly gone wrong. They'd been masquerading as Sophie and Jean-Paul Renier, a married couple who just happened to be assassins, and very successful ones at that. The only problem was that this time the Reniers turned out to be the prey.

"_How many times did he hit you?" Ducky asked, turning my face from one side to the other and surveying the damage._

"_I wasn't counting." Too right I wasn't. Nope, I was concentrating hard on not crying out like a schoolgirl and keeping it altogether, so that Ziva might get out alive. I'd already decided my number was up. I'm Italian, we're chivalrous – we look out for our women. Not that she ever was my woman, of course. It was all just pretence. But we did look good together._

"_Seven times." Now, call me stupid (on second thoughts, don't bother. I hear that entirely too many times for comfort and it's getting pretty old) but for just one moment I thought I saw a chink in her armour-plating and maybe my ears were still ringing from the pasting I'd taken, but I could have sworn there was a tremor in her voice. But I was probably wrong. I usually am, when it comes to Ziva._

_So I tried to brush it off, make light of the whole thing, with a flippant remark. "She was, of course."_

_And that's when she looked at me, with her eyes dark and huge and totally unreadable. "It was hard not to." That's all she said, but I still lie awake at nights, wondering exactly what she meant. And then I go and take a cold shower._

"I'm freezing my ass off here, Ziva."

"Your little hairy butt." She smiled at him and DINozzo remembered the first time she'd said that, in that hotel room… And then he just about jumped his own height in the air when Ziva's warm hand patted him proprietorially on his ass.

"It's not that hairy," he protested feebly, wonder if hyperthermia gave you hallucinations.

"Maybe I should call you sweet cheeks?" she said roguishly and just for a second Tony DiNozzo thought his day had actually come. And then the moment was gone as quickly as it had arrived, blown to kingdom come by one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, who would surely burn in hell for his bad timing, DiNozzo thought.

"CALLEN!" Gibbs bawled. "You want to get down here with those spare clothes before I start feeling like I'm in the middle of some damned orgy?"

"We're engaged," Kensi said, managing to detach herself from Marty just long enough to get the words out.

"Been there, done that – got the divorce papers and the empty bank account to prove it." Gibbs took a long look at what he could see of Deeks. "Your boy there's bashed up enough already without you giving him a hickey on top of everything else." He let his gaze drift over to DiNozzo. "You doing okay, Tony?"

"Been better, boss. But I'll live."

"Next time, make sure you're the one wearing the pants in the relationship, okay?" Gibbs didn't even bother to try to hide the smirk on his face as Callen appeared clutching the bag of spare clothes from the trunk of his car. "This the latest style in LA then?" He gestured towards Deeks, who had given up being embarrassed and merely struck a fetching pose, with one hand on his hip – and then winced as his ribs twinged painfully.

"It's Deeks. What more can I say?" Callen reached into the bag and tossed him a shirt. "Put that on and stop flaunting yourself. You know you're not my type, so it's not worth the effort."

"What about some pants?"

"No go. I've only got one set and DiNozzo's need is greater than yours."

"That's the only thing of his that is." Deeks pulled the shirt down as far as it would go, which was only half-way down his ass. "Can I at least get some socks then?" He didn't even bother asking to borrow Callen's shoes: it wasn't for nothing that the senior agent was known as "tiny toes", strictly behind his back, of course.

As DiNozzo attempted to get the pants on while not exposing himself to any more criticism, Kensi surveyed Marty. "That look actually works for me. You could maybe lose the socks, but apart from that I've not got any complaints."

"He does have a good butt," Ziva commented. "Very smooth."

Deeks wondered why everyone always said Ziva was so fearsome: she seemed really nice. And the way she was looking at DiNozzo certainly leave much doubt about how she felt about him. Clearly she just needed a push, metaphorically speaking. He wasn't daft enough to actually push her, not if he wanted to keep his teeth in their sockets, where they belonged. "But maybe you prefer them hairy?" he asked.

"Maybe I do," Ziva agreed.

Now that he had a pair of pants on, DiNozzo felt infinitely more confident about facing the world. "You were worried about me, weren't you?" _Go on, admit it._

"A little. When I saw you carried out over that man's shoulder, I was worried. And you would have been too, if it was me_." If you had been badly hurt, the entire Marine Corps wouldn't have been able to stop me from killing the person who did this to you._

DiNozzo closed his eyes briefly and contemplated the image of a naked Ziva tossed over a man's shoulder – hell, screw that for a fantasy, he'd rather picture her tossed over his own shoulder! - and tried not to smile. "And you flew all the way over here? I never knew you cared."

"No – I was already here."

You could almost hear the sound of shattering illusions and Gibbs tried not to groan. He'd been watching this pair dance around one another for more years than he cared to count. He'd had entire courtship, marriage _and_ divorce during a shorter period of time. Maybe they were into delayed gratification, which certainly had its place in the scheme of things, but this was ridiculous. "You two should really go checked out at the hospital." Maybe they could thump some sense into DiNozzo, or maybe even do a brain transplant. He decided to go and relieve Hetty of her tedious but necessary job of making sure their captive didn't try to escape. Anything would be better than staying here watching his agents behave like kids at a junior high school dance.

"Later." Deeks looked at Callen. "Any word about Sam?"

Kensi gave a start and squeezed him so hard that for a moment he was afraid one of those ribs might just have punctured a lung. "I forgot to tell you! He was on his way back when Callen and I got the call about being taken."

"He's back," Ziva said, wishing she was brave enough to follow Kensi's example and hug Tony like there was no tomorrow. Maybe once they were alone together? Not for the first time, she wished she could just let her emotions come to the fore and not be so repressed all the time, but years of Mossad training had drilled that out of her long ago. And her childhood had not exactly been renowned for endless displays of love and affection. Sometimes she wondered how her Eli David had even managed to father three children and if his love-making had been as disastrous as his parenting skills.

"You're both in one piece, I see," Hetty pronounced. "A good thing, as I hate to think what my medical budget is going to be this month. It seems to have more than doubled since you joined us, Mr Deeks."

"I don't get hurt on purpose," he protested. "It's more that you keep sending me into these situations where things happen. Bad things. And they usually happen to me."

"I wonder why?" Callen mused and then thumped him on the back. "By the way, you look like you're channelling your inner Tom Cruise."

Deeks and DiNozzo exchanged wry looks and then chorused "_Risky Business_." Which seemed like a pretty pat commentary on the whole damned mess, when all was said and done.

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><p><em>Awww! Slushy plot bunny loves a happy ending. And this story is reaching it's conclusion... stay tuned to find out what happens next.<em>


	46. Chapter 46

**Never Going Back Again: Chapter Forty-six**

_And here we are - finally at the end of a very long story-arc indeed. This one stretched out over at least 2 1/2 stories by my calculations._

_So many thanks to everyone who has been following this long and somewhat complicated story and especially to everyone who has reviewed._

_So, with no further ado - read on and I hope you enjoy._

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><p>"Come on," Deeks slung his arm around Kensi, unwilling to let go of her for even one minute. They seemed to have spent far too much time apart and he wanted to make up for it. "Let's go see Sam. Then maybe we might swing by the hospital? Just in case. I'd hate to invalidate that medical insurance policy of Hetty's by being careless."<p>

"How very thoughtful of you, Mr Deeks." She studied him carefully, trying to ascertain if he really should go straight to the hospital, but apart from the way he was clearly favouring his ribs,and had a black eye and a split lip, she was satisified that there were no injuries requiring immediate attention. A few less kisses from Ms Blye might stop that puffiness about his mouth from getting any worse, but Hetty was realistic and knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that happening.

Ziva had other ideas. "Kensi and I need five minutes. Just five minutes. Perhaps only three. You should stay here." Her voice and indeed her stance gave the undeniable impression that she intended to take no prisoners, and woe betide anyone who got in her way.

"Exactly what do you have in mind, my dear?" Hetty asked charmingly, having a very good idea indeed.

"Gibbs will tell you. When I send him back here." Ziva made for the steps, only to find Callen standing in her way.

"I don't think so. Standing by your man is all very well and good…"

"He's not my man," Ziva interrupted. They were about the same size, she calculated. She could have Callen on the ground and crying for mercy in three moves. If he was very lucky, she would only break his arm. In two places. Which was rather less than she had planned for Nicole.

"… but it's not going to happen," Callen continued, as if she had not spoken. "Not on my watch. That's not how we do things around here."

"It is my right. He is my partner." Ziva was like a tiger protecting her young: eyes blazing and willing to do anything.

"If you're talking about Nicole, then she's not worth it. And anyway, I'd rather have you here," DiNozzo said quietly and she spun around. "Seriously, Ziva." He held out his hand and smiled. And, wonder of wonders, Ziva smiled back and her whole body language altered beyond recognition.

There is a time when a strategic withdrawal is not only necessary, it is obligatory and this was one of those occasions. Although Tony and Ziva were still standing on opposite sides of the gloomy basement, no one had any doubts that the moment they were alone that distance would be breached, along with all the defences Ziva had so carefully erected around her heart.

"True love," Marty sighed dramatically as they emerged into the fresh air and sunshine. "Ziva really wanted to cream Nicole, didn't she?" He didn't sound too bothered about that, Kensi thought with relief.

"I wanted too as well," she confessed. "But I wanted to be with you more."

"Sensible lady." He turned his face up to the sun and rejoiced silently. It was over. This whole long, convoluted mess that had started so long ago with the deaths of those Marines on Mount Clark had finally ended. Along the way, he and Callen had found out details from their respective pasts that had been buried for too long, and he'd even found his father again. It remained to be seen what would happen there. Marty was certain of one thing though, Max Gentry had definitely made his last appearance. He was never going back there again. No, the past was what it was, and it couldn't be changed. The important thing was to recognise that and then move on. And no man had ever had a better incentive to move on than he did. Because he had Kensi and they were going to have a golden future. All the rest was irrelevant.

Callen decided this was not the time to explain that Nicole was several sandwiches short of a picnic. Not that she ever appeared to have been the sharpest pencil in the box to start out with. For some reason, he still couldn't shake the image of that kitten out of his head. Maybe when he and Nico found their house together, they should get a cat? And he realised what that meant – a joint commitment, a signal that this was more than just an affair. A cat sounded really good. Maybe even two cats, so they could play together? As long as Nico liked cats? Of course, there was the definite possibility she might prefer a baby. Callen considered that and decided that a baby would be good too, but he definitely wanted those cats. There was no harm in starting small and working up. They could kind of practice with the cats, he thought.

Gibbs was leaning against the car waiting for them. "LAPD took the suspect away," he said laconically. "Saves us doing the paperwork. Or being shown up by Malibu Ken over there." He gestured towards Deeks, who was showing a considerable amount of tanned leg.

"You're hardly one to talk, Jethro," Hetty said tartly. "At least my agent had the good sense to have his underpants on, which is more than can be said for yours."

"Pity your other agent can't keep her hands off him then, isn't it? Gievn half a chance and they'd be down around his ankles."

Kensi did a double take, never having realised that Gibbs actually had a sense of humour. Marty just looked smug. Clearly Gibbs was jealous - and who could blame him?

A smile of deep contentment crept across Hetty's face. "If you think that's bad, just wait till you see what your team is getting up to in that basement." It was like watching two children arguing over whose Dad was bigger and better, Callen thought. Only they were arguing about whose team had the higher sex drive. It was surreal. Not that Gibbs looked too bothered, in fact he almost looked relieved to hear the news, kind of like he'd been expecting it almost.

Satisfied that she had managed to get in the final word, Hetty gestured towards Callen's car. "We'll see you back at the Mission, Jethro. Once you've prised them apart. Do you want to borrow a tire iron?"

"He might be quite some time," Marty said, with quiet jubilation as Gibbs made no sign of moving from his position. DiNozzo was a decent guy; he deserved to be happy. "I'm starving," he announced with surprise, as Callen started the drive back down to Santa Monica. Judging by the sun, it was past mid-day and he'd not had anything except coffee since last night's pizza.

"Me too." Kensi was still holding on his hand and her other hand was stroking his bare leg. The front seat passengers were doing a very good job of pretending not to notice and were largely successful in their endeavours. "I haven't been able to eat for days," she confessed. "Not since you left. Every time I even looked at food, I just felt sick. I actually was sick this morning."

Hetty leant back across her seat with an unreadable expression on her face. "I don't suppose there's a possibility you could be pregnant, is there?" She looked at their stunned faces as Kensi frantically began to calculate dates in her mind and then resorted to counting on her fingers. "Oh heavens to Betsy! You have been taking precautions, haven't you?"

"Not exactly," Marty said slowly and a smile crept across his face. "Not at all, actually. It's a good thing we're already engaged. All we've got to do now is set a date for the wedding."

**THE END**

To be continued in "Slipping Through My Fingers."


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